The  Fringe  of  the 
Desert 


By 

Rachel  Swete  Macnamara 


"  And  the  Wise  Man  said,  '  Those  who  love 
with  passion  stand  upon  the  Fringe 
of  the  Desert,'  and  they  who  heard 
laughed  and  passed  on  their  way." 


G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  and  London 
fmicfterbocfeer    press 
1913 


COPYRIGHT,  1913 

BY 
RACHEL   SWETE    MACNAMARA 


Ubc  Iknfcfterbocfcer  press,  IRcw  HJorfe 


So 

T.  E.  M. 

BECAUSE  SHE  LIKED  IT  AND 
BELIEVED  IN  IT,  AND  BECAUSE 
OF  A  CERTAIN  GREY  NOVEMBER 
MORNING,  I  DEDICATE  THIS  BOOK 


2136941 


CONTENTS 

PART  I 
THE  MOTHER 


CHAPTER 


PAGE 


I.  "UNKNOWN,  UNKISSED"     .  3 

II.  REEDS  BECOME  DARTS       .  19 

III.  "No  OFFENCE  MEANT"      .  .       32 

IV.  ON  THE  SHOCKING  OF  OYSTERS  .         .       43 
V.  "SUMLESS  TREASURES"      ...       58 

VI.  BEGINNINGS  AND  ENDINGS  .       69 

VII.  MAY  DEW         ...  .80 

VIII.  THE  TENNIS  PARTY  92 

IX.  THE  CAGE  OF  DREAMS        .  .         .106 

X.  WILD  FRUIT      ...  .     114 

XL  GHOSTS  •     130 


vi  Contents 

PART  II 
THE  FATHER 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  THE  WISHING  CAP     .         .  .  145 

II.  THE  KEYHOLE  OF  EGYPT    .  .  .157 

III.  THE  PAST  CAN  NEVER  DIE  .  .     171 

IV.  THE  NILE-SONG  FROM  AFAR  .  .182 
V.  LIFE'S  WHEEL   .         .         .  .  .193 

VI.  THE  LUCKY  DAY        ....     204 

VII.  "To-DAY  Is  SWEET"          .         .         .220 

VIII.  BELHASARD       .         .         .  .     232 

IX.  DRIFTING 241 

X.  TEMPLES 252 

XL  IVORS  FINDS  THE  LOVE-COLOUR  .         .     267 

XII.     "HE  WHO  Is  NOT  A  FOOL  SOMETIMES 

Is  A  FOOL  ALWAYS"        .         .         .     283 

XIII.    THE  TOLL  .     290 


Contents  vii 

PART  III 
THE  LOVERS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  "THERE  Is  No  ARMOUR  AGAINST  FATE"    301 

II.  "WHERE  Is  YOUR  To- MORROW?"         .     310 

III.  THE  FRINGE  OF  THE  DESERT       .         .319 

IV.  THE  MAGIC  CIRCLE   .         .         .         .     329 
V.  GEZIRET-EL-SAADA     ....     339 

VI.  THE  GOLDEN  BALL    .         .         .         .352 

VII.  A  VOICE  CRYING  IN  THE  WILDERNESS  .     362 

VIII.  TO-MORROW 378 

IX.  MANY  WATERS  .         .         .         .389 

X.  ANOTHER  ASPECT  OF  THE  PROBLEM        .     399 

XL  THE  SOLUTION 411 

XII.  LOVE  TRIUMPHANT     ....     420 


PART  I 


THE  MOTHER 


THE 
FRINGE  OF  THE  DESERT 


CHAPTER  I 
"UNKNOWN,  UNKISSED" 

TJILDRED  IVORS  leaned  back  against  the 
fl  cushion  of  the  railway  carriage,  and  looked 
through  the  window  with  unseeing  eyes. 

In  vain  for  her  Spring  lit  the  green  fires  of  April 
in  hedge  and  woodland,  or  woke  the  orchards  to  a 
blush  of  rose  half-hidden  in  the  virginal  veil  of  pear- 
or  cherry-bloom;  in  vain  the  shepherd  wind  drove 
flocks  of  cloud-sheep  across  a  field  of  blue  as  vivid  in 
colour  as  the  grass  of  the  daisied  meadows  beneath, 
where  here  and  there  some  ancient  smock-frocked 
Lubin  guarded  woolly  mothers  and  frolicsome  lambs, 
whose  caprices  brought  a  faint  echo  of  the  footsteps 
of  long  ago  Aprils  dancing  through  the  cobwebbed 
corridors  of  his  memory — an  echo  which  evoked  a 
vision  of  a  curly  head,  perhaps,  or  a  plump  pink  cheek, 
the  flash  of  an  eye,  or  the  roundness  of  a  trim  waist,  to 
be  dismissed  with  a  shake  of  a  grizzled  head  and  a 

3 


4  The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

"  Dust  to  dust ! " — together  with  an  entire  forgetfulness 
of  the  fact  that  out  of  the  dust  of  dead  yesterdays  are 
born  the  young  Aprils  of  to-day. 

In  vain  Spring  tried  to  show  the  girl  how  she  had 
come  to  the  towns;  how  she  had  touched  the  murky 
trees  and  wakened  the  dingy  back-gardens  to  a  bur- 
geoning of  yellow  and  purple  and  white ;  how  here  the 
wind  played  the  piper  as  he  set  the  quaint  shapes 
on  the  clothes-lines  dancing  with  a  careless  abandon 
which  was  only  restrained  from  full  flight  by  the 
capturing  clothes-pins;  how  he  hummed  and  sang 
among  the  telegraph  wires  which  rose  and  fell  by  the 
side  of  the  rushing  train,  burnished  as  gossamer 
threads  in  the  sunshine.  The  swaying  and  interlacing 
of  the  glistening  wires  caught  and  held  Hildred's 
attention,  for  an  instant  vaguely  piercing  through  the 
cloud  of  thought  which  enwrapped  her,  but  only  for 
an  instant.  Nature,  Spring,  the  sweet  influences  of  her 
own  youth  were  swept  aside  by  the  obsession  of  her 
thoughts,  of  her  new  responsibilities,  of  her  recently 
acquired  knowledge. 

She  had,  of  course,  always  known  that  her  parents 
did  not  live  together.  It  was  an  accepted  fact  of 
her  childhood,  unquestioned  if  occasionally  wondered 
at. 

Her  father,  Ingram  Ivors,  the  celebrated  painter  of 
Eastern  life,  whose  subtle  harmonious  pictures  were 
always  boldly  signed  "Ego!"  wintered  in  Egypt  and 
summered  in  various  blue  and  sun-filled  places,  as  his 
chest  was  delicate.  The  dry  air  of  the  East,  so  she 
had  been  led  to  believe,  did  not  suit  her  mother,  who 
had  a  cottage  at  Burnaby;  and  the  responsibilities 
of  parenthood  apparently  agreed  with  neither. 


"Unknown,  Unkissed"  5 

Money,  the  great  non-essential,  had  not  been 
lacking;  Hildred  had  never  known  material  want. 
Affection,  too,  had  wanned  her  young  life,  for  the  two 
elderly  cousins  with  whom  she  had  lived  since  she  was 
five  years  old  had  done  their  best  to  fill  the  pitiful 
gaps  of  which  the  child  was  unaware.  The  Misses 
Bering,  mutual  cousins  of  her  father  and  mother,  while 
disapproving  of  the  conduct  of  the  Ivorses,  had  tried, 
in  their  gentle  conventional  way,  to  create  in  Hil- 
dred's  mind  an  atmosphere  of  tenderness  through 
which  their  figures  should  loom  mellow  and  devoid  of 
disfiguring  angles;  but  unless  such  an  atmosphere  be 
sun-illumined  it  is  prone  to  thicken  into  fog.  The  fog 
had  always  obscured  her  mother,  save  for  a  stilted 
letter  at  Christmas-time  in  which  a  cheque  was  the 
medium  of  remembrance  between  her  and  hers  sin- 
cerely— H.  D.  Ivors.  The  slip  of  paper  crackled 
aggressively  in  Hildred's  ears;  it  whispered  of  an  irk- 
some duty  well  fulfilled  if  only  the  amount  dispatched 
were  sufficiently  large. 

There  had  been  a  lifting  once  which  had  revealed  her 
father,  a  figure  of  some  personal  charm,  who  had  taken 
her  to  the  Zoo  and  the  National  Gallery,  feasted  her 
on  chocolates  and  ice-cream,  lavished  expensive  trifles 
on  her,  and  parted  from  her  with  an  ill-concealed  air 
of  relief. 

"My  mother  sends  me  cheques  which  hiss  at  me, 
and  my  father  gives  me  money  which  clinks  like  a  bite," 
thought  the  child  Hildred.  "What  did  I  ever  do  to 
make  them  dislike  me  so  much?" 

She  had  asked  Cousin  Antoinette  the  question,  but 
Miss  Bering  had  the  old-fashioned  belief  that  what  is 
ignored  is  invisible,  and  therefore  by  a  circuitous 


6  The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

process  of  reasoning  becomes  non-existent;  besides 
she  was  loyal  to  those  who  had  reposed  the  trust  of 
the  child  in  her,  so  she  made  some  vaguely  non- 
committal answer. 

"  I  suppose  it  is  because  I  was  born  at  all, "  Hildred 
had  pursued,  unsatisfied.  "I  suppose  some  people 
don't  like  children  to  be  born." 

"Hildred,  it  is  God  who  sends  the  children,"  said 
Miss  Antoinette. 

"I  wonder  why  on  earth  He  sent  me,"  returned 
Hildred,  and  had  to  learn  a  very  long  collect  for 
irreverence. 

The  fog  closed  round  her  father  again;  Hildred 
felt  that  it  would  have  lifted  occasionally  if  she  had 
been  beautiful  or  even  pretty.  She  came  to  this 
conclusion  without  rancour,  accepting  it  rather  as  a 
natural  fact  than  a  tangible  source  of  grievance,  for 
young  as  she  had  been  at  their  meeting,  she  realised 
that  in  her  father's  eyes  the  supreme  duty  of  woman 
was  to  be  beautiful;  his  other  requirements  of  the  sex, 
as  a  sex,  she  had  yet  to  discover. 

The  Misses  Bering  carefully  superintended  her 
education;  morally,  mentally,  and  physically  her 
development  had  progressed  as  far  as  their  limita- 
tions allowed.  She  had  had  a  year  in  Germany, 
a  year  in  Italy,  and  a  year  in  France,  and  she  had 
returned  to  her  cousins'  house  in  Essex,  prepared 
to  settle  down,  for  a  summer  at  least,  to  the  ordi- 
nary holiday  life  of  the  ordinary  English  girl.  For 
the  winter  she  had  the  germ  of  plans  which  were  yet 
to  mature. 

And  lo!  on  her  twentieth  birthday  a  bombshell! 
Her  placid,  delightfully  ordered  existence  was  over, 


"  Unknown,  Unkissed  "  7 

and   she   came   into   contact   with   hitherto   hidden 
principalities  and  powers. 

The  bombshell  took  the  innocent,  if  unexpected, 
form  of  a  letter  from  her  mother.  It  was  undated,  as  it 
had  been  enclosed  in  one  sent  to  Miss  Dering  the 
previous  Christmas,  with  a  request  that  she  would 
give  it  to  Hildred  on  her  twentieth  birthday — "which 
is  sometime  in  April,  I  believe. "  Strange  irony  that 
the  Festival  of  the  Christ  Child,  the  season  of  peace 
and  good-will,  should  be  the  only  data  on  which  Mrs. 
Ivors  remembered  the  existence  of  her  own  rejected 
offspring !  The  letter  ran : 

"WmXECOT,  BURNABY. 

"DEAR  HILDRED, 

"Your  father  and  I,  though  we  differed  on 
many  points,  agreed  on  one  thing,  the  subject  of  your 
education.  You  'have  had  every  chance  of  develop- 
ment; you  have  seen  a  good  deal  of  the  world,  and 
you  ought  by  this  time  to  be  fitted  to  have  the  ordering 
of  your  own  life.  We — "  (the  conjunction  seemed 
incredible  to  Hildred)  "have  made  no  claims  upon 
you  hitherto,  but  we  decided  years  ago  that  when  you 
attained  the  age  of  twenty  you  were  to  divide  between 
us  the  last  year  of  your  dependent  life.  You  will, 
therefore,  come  to  me  for  six  months  as  soon  as  you 
conveniently  can.  In  the  autumn  you  are  to  go  to 
your  father  for  six  months,  at  the  end  of  which  period 
you  will  be  free  to  choose  for  yourself.  You  will  be 
at  liberty  to  live  with  either  of  us,  if  you  wish,  or  to 
follow  some  individual  career  of  your  own  choosing. 
An  adequate  provision  will  be  made  for  you  in  either 
case. 


8  The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

"Let  me  know  what  day  and  hour  you  will  arrive. 
There  is  a  good  train  which  reaches  Burnaby  at  about 
five.  Don't  forget  to  change  at  Ledwych. 

"  Yours    sincerely, 

"H.  D.  IVORS." 

Phrases  from  this  curious  letter  set  themselves  to 
the  recurrent  beat  of  the  wheel-music,  as  the  train  bore 
Hildred  to  her  destination.  The  days  since  its  arrival 
seemed  dreamlike,  unreal.  Her  known  world  had 
tumbled  in  chaos  about  her;  what  strange  Phoenix 
was  to  rise  from  the  ashes  of  her  dreams? 

There  was  no  possibility  of  appeal ;  she  had  not  been 
asked,  she  had  been  ordered  to  go.  It  was  not  as  if 
the  reproachful  ghosts  of  the  unclaimed  years  had 
stirred  remorse  or  regret  in  either  parent.  No,  there 
was  no  savour  of  sweetness  in  this  command.  It  was 
the  result  of  long  laid-aside  concurrence;  Fate  had 
had  her  in  a  net  throughout  these  happy  careless- 
seeming  years — a  vast  invisible  net,  of  which  she 
suddenly  felt  the  mesh. 

A  dull  resentment  burned  in  the  girl's  heart  as  she 
looked  at  the  flying  landscape  with  unseeing  eyes. 
What  did  she  owe  of  the  duty  and  affection  inculcated 
by  Cousin  Antoinette  to  either  parent? 

"We  decided"— "You  will  therefore  come"— "We 
decided" — "You  will  therefore  come."  The  puppet 
words  beat  again  and  again  upon  her  brain.  They 
pulled  the  strings,  first  her  mother  and  then  her  father, 
and  she  must  dance  as  they  wished.  Well,  they  should 
see  what  sort  of  a  tune  she  would  dance  to!  She  set 
her  lips  in  a  hard  line ;  then  her  mood  melted  a  little. 
After  all,  nothing  had  been  asked  of  her.  If  they  had 


"  Unknown,  Unkissed  "  9 

not  given  throughout  these  past  years,  which  now 
loomed  magical  through  a  glow  of  rose,  neither  had 
they  demanded  anything.  It  should  not  be  too  diffi- 
cult to  be  a  polite  and  considerate  guest  for  a  time  in 
the  house  of  this  stranger- woman,  supposing  that  both 
ignored  realities  and  claimed  no  more  or  no  less  than 
mutual  courtesy. 

She  had  that  happy  faculty,  which  belongs  but  to 
youth  and  the  grasshopper-natured,  of  living  abso- 
lutely in  the  present  and  curtaining  the  doors  of  the 
future  so  that  neither  sight  nor  sound  could  penetrate 
to  disturb. 

As  for  her  father,  his — "  She  has  not  even  a  feature ! ' ' 
still  rang  in  her  ears  with  so  loud  a  clanguor  as  to 
drown  any  memory  of  his  subsequent  charm.  He  still 
was  behind  the  curtain.  So  be  it. 

Yet  there  were  undeniable  charms  in  the  face,  which 
at  its  fledgling  worst  "had  not  even  a  feature. "  There 
was  much  to  attract  in  the  steadfast  look  of  the  thickly 
lashed  grey  eyes,  in  the  soft  fair  hair,  in  the  clear  pure 
skin.  If  the  nose  were  blunt  rather  than  Grecian  it 
was  not  ill  formed,  and  if  the  mouth  were  not  curved 
enough  for  beauty  no  meannesses  lurked  in  its  firm 
lines.  Hildred's  face  was  square  rather  than  oval,  and 
the  contour  of  the  cheek  and  chin  showed  sense  and 
determination.  If  a  compensating  softness  lay  in  her 
eyes  the  fringe  of  brown  lashes  made  the  discovery 
difficult.  Long  ago  she  had  learned  to  keep  her  fancies 
and  feelings  to  herself;  an  unchildlike  reticence  had 
been  superimposed  upon  a  frank  and  fearless  nature, 
and  the  years,  in  thus  disciplining  her,  had  taught  her 
self-reliance  also.  Hildred's  eyes  and  lips  kept  her 
vague  girl-secrets  well.  The  Misses  Bering  never 


io  The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

guessed  at  the  insurgent  soul  behind  the  barrier  of 
calm  words  and  ways. 

They  considered  dear  Hildred  placid  and  reliable, 
adaptable  and  affectionate,  one  to  be  led  by  the  lightest 
whisper  of  those  in  authority — a  classification  to 
which  Hildred 's  firm  lips  and  somewhat  obstinate  chin 
gave  an  emphatic  denial. 

She  thought  over  the  phrasing  of  her  mother's  letter 
as  she  leaned  her  head  back  against  the  fawn-coloured 
cushions;  the  unsoftened  bluntness,  the  terse  com- 
mand, the  clear  decision  of  every  word.  Immutable  as 
Fate,  drained  of  the  faintest  essence  of  personal  desire 
or  emotion  it  seemed  to  Hildred  that  the  only  individ- 
ual note  in  the  whole  letter  was  struck  by  the  three 
business-like  sentences  at  its  end.  The  curt  directions 
as  to  train-times  and  changes  premised  at  least  a 
human  being,  not  an  aloof  spinner  of  the  threads  of 
destiny. 

The  train  whistled,  slackened,  stopped  at  Ledwych 
Junction. 

Hildred  rose  with  reluctance,  her  supposed  freedom 
shackled  by  another  link  in  the  unseen  chain. 

The  train  for  Burnaby  stood  waiting  at  a  distant 
platform,  puffing  with  a  fussy  importance,  though  ten 
minutes  should  elapse  before  its  departure.  Hildred 
chose  an  empty  carriage  and  her  favoured  corner, 
opened  a  magazine  and  glanced  at  its  pages;  then  let 
it  fall  listlessly  upon  her  lap,  her  thoughts  too  busy 
with  the  tide  of  her  own  affairs  to  take  even  a  passing 
interest  in  any  romance  of  fiction. 

Presently  she  looked  at  her  watch  to  see  how  much 
solitude  yet  remained  to  her. 

"The  train  is  due  to  start,"  she  thought.     "Evi- 


"  Unknown,  Unkissed  "  n 

dently  they  are  not  particular  as  to  time  on  these  small 
branch  lines.  I  have  half  an  hour  left  still,  thank 
goodness." 

At  the  moment  there  was  a  bustle  on  the  platform, 
a  stirring  of  the  waters  of  peace  which  had  engulfed 
the  station  with  the  departure  of  the  London  Express ; 
and  to  Hildred's  annoyance  two  people  were  ushered 
into  her  compartment  by  an  officious  porter.  At 
least  she  now  considered  him  officious,  although  in  his 
attendance  on  her  she  had  thought  him  both  civil  and 
obliging.  So  much  for  the  point  of  view. 

She  glanced  at  the  newcomers  with  some  interest. 
Her  years  in  foreign  countries  had  cured  her  of  the 
average  English  person's  detestation  of  the  society  of 
his  unknown  fellow-beings  either  at  home  or  abroad. 
Her  present  resentment  at  the  invasion  of  her  solitude 
was  more  for  the  occasion  than  the  event.  As  people 
they  interested  her;  as  intruders  she  could  have  dis- 
pensed with  them. 

"Unmistakably  'county,'"  was  her  rapid  mental 
summing-up.  "No  one  but  an  English  county  lady 
would  dare  to  wear  those  boots  and  those  rough  tweeds 
on  a  day  like  this.  There  is  the  courage  of  centuries 
behind  that  hairdressing,  too — that  calm  conviction  of 
being  of  the  salt  of  the  earth  which  makes  one  rise 
superior  to  such  follies  as  fashion.  The  man  is  evi- 
dently her  husband.  His  clothes  and  air  spell  turnips. 
Probably  he  never  reads  anything  but  the  Times  and 
a  sporting  paper.  Yet  they  look  nice  somehow,  and 
wholesome  and  open-air.  I  wonder  if  my  mother  is 
anything  like  that. " 

She  had  never  even  seen  a  photograph  of  Mrs. 
Ivors.  Early  questioning  had  only  elicited  from  Miss 


12  The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

Bering  the  facts  that  she  had  been  as  "straight  as  a 
rush, "  and  had  had  "a  fresh  complexion. "  The  same 
description  could  easily  be  applied  to  the  woman 
opposite,  whose  face  had  a  somewhat  hard,  weather- 
beaten  look  which  added  several  years  to  her  toll  of 
thirty- two. 

Presently  she  began  to  talk  to  her  husband,  at  first 
in  low  tones,  then,  with  a  careless  disregard  of  the 
unknown  auditor,  a  little  louder,  with  a  crispness  of 
enunciation  which  made  non-hearing  impossible.  The 
husband  answered  and  laughed  in  what  Hildred  called 
to  herself  "a  turnippy  way."  The  subject  of  their 
conversation  was  somebody  named  "Harry,"  whose 
doings  they  discussed  with  considerable  freedom, 
ignoring  the  possibility  of  Hildred's  having  any 
acquaintance  with  the  said  Harry  with  the  assured 
contempt  of  the  said  salt  for  those  deemed  in  any  way 
below  it,  or  rather  not  of  it.  Hildred  was  not  of  it, 
decidedly.  Even  a  cursory  glance  revealed  an  un- 
county-like  smartness  about  her  hat,  hair,  and  shoes. 
She  looked  "French,"  the  lady  had  decided.  That 
was  enough.  No  one  whom  she  knew  could  possibly 
be  going  to  have  a  French-looking  visitor.  It  was  not 
even  the  season  for  changing  governesses,  she  reflected, 
so  with  a  complacent  sense  of  security  she  continued 
to  discuss  the  absent  Harry's  peculiarities. 

Hildred  only  caught  a  word  or  two  at  first. 

"Harry's  latest — captaining  a  hockey-team  at 
Mudford.  Would  n't  play  goal,  if  you  please,  too  dull 
— should  rush  into  the  fray  if  the  ball  came  near." 

"  Ball, "  murmured  the  husband.  "  Any  thin'  in  the 
shape  of  a  ball  is  in  old  Harry's  line,  except  the  sort 
you  dance  at."  He  chuckled,  amused  at  his  own 


"  Unknown,  Unkissed  "  13 

joke.  "That  sort  of  ball  is  n't  much  in  Harry's  line, 
is  it,  old  girl?" 

They  both  laughed,  and  with  the  cosmopolitan 
detachment  of  one  who  has  spent  three  years  among 
the  capitals  of  Europe,  and  the  hasty  judgment  of 
youth,  Hildred  decided  that  the  average  English  person 
was  ready  to  be  amused  by  the  veriest  trifle  in  a  way 
which  showed  a  deplorable  lack  of  a  true  sense  of 
humour. 

"Every  kind  of  ball  except  the  one,"  pursued  the 
man.  "Each  in  its  season,  hockey,  tennis,  croquet, 
golf,  and  what 's  the  name  of  the  thing  that  had  such 
a  run  about  ten  years  ago?" 

"Diabolo, "  suggested  the  wife. 

"Diabolo  isn't  a  ball,  you  goose!  No;  what  was 
it?  Tiddly-winks — no,  ping-pong.  That 'sit." 

The  wife  brightened.  She  sat  up  straighter  in  her 
corner,  and  laughed  again  as  if  at  some  reminiscence. 

"Yes.  I  remember  the  ping-pong  craze.  It  was 
before  we  were  married.  Harry  was  cracked  about  it 
and  ransacked  the  parish  to  get  people  to  play.  First 
thing  after  breakfast  and  last  thing  at  night  Harry  was 
at  it  if  a  partner  was  to  be  had.  I,  though  I  was  n't 
much  good,  was  once  commandeered.  I  remember  the 
mannish  look  of  the  room,  the  cigarettes,  the  tantalus 
and  siphons  on  the  sideboard,  the  racquets  and  things 
all  about  the  place.  I  remember  I  felt  quite  embar- 
rassed, almost  as  ^  I  was  in  a  bachelor's  rooms.  It 
was  very  funny." 

They  both  laughed,  and  Hildred  wondered  a  little. 
If  Harry  were  not  a  bachelor,  he  must  be  either  a 
married  man  or  a  widower.  What  was  the  point  of 
the  joke? 


14          The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

"Poor  old  Harry!"  said  the  man.  "Jack  of  all 
trades  and  master  of  none.  It 's  the  same  at  every 
game,  so  far  and  no  farther.  A  bit  of  a  failure,  but  a 
good  old  sporting  sort  all  the  same. " 

The  train  slackened  at  a  small  wayside  station,  and 
the  two  got  out.  Hildred  saw  them  mount  into  a 
four-wheeled  dog-cart  which  awaited  them  on  the 
road  outside,  but  the  train  moved  on  again  before 
their  departure,  as  the  man  was  making  determined 
inquiries  of  a  rather  agitated  station-master. 

"Some  precious  parcel  that's  missing,"  Hildred 
supposed  with  a  slight  curl  of  her  lip.  The  episode  of 
her  travelling  companions  and  the  triviality  of  their 
conversation  had  served  to  divert  the  current  of  her 
thoughts  for  a  time,  and,  as  she  looked  at  her  watch 
and  consulted  the  Bradshaw  with  which  Miss  Bering 
had  presented  her,  she  realised  with  a  start  that  Burna- 
by  was  the  next  station,  and  that  her  train  was  due  to 
arrive  there  in,  to  be  precise,  exactly  two  minutes. 

She  rose,  put  her  magazine  and  Bradshaw  back  into 
her  travelling-bag,  took  down  her  coat  and  umbrella 
from  the  rack,  and  waited  in  that  painful  readiness 
which  every  traveller  knows.  In  Hildred's  case  the 
lagging  moments  were  tinctured  with  the  balm  of 
reprieve.  Her  hands  felt  cold;  her  heart  beat  in 
absurd  irregular  throbs ;  a  mist  of  nervousness  blurred 
the  green  landscape  through  which  she  was  being 
borne  to  her  fate. 

"We  decided — You  will  therefore  come."  Once 
again  the  wheels  in  their  turning  beat  out  that  refrain 
of  command,  in  time,  it  seemed,  to  the  beating  of 
her  heart.  The  train  whistled  and  began  to  slow 
down. 


"  Unknown,  Unkissed  "  15 

"What  's  the  use  of  being  nervous?"  she  chid  her- 
self. "  It 's  inevitable,  and  in  a  moment  I  shall  know." 

The  train  stopped.  With  an  effort  the  girl  looked 
out  of  the  window.  With  the  exception  of  a  few 
rustics  the  only  person  visible  was  a  spare,  dark-clad 
form  at  the  far  end  of  the  platform. 

Hildred  got  out  and  gave  her  bag  to  a  porter.  ' '  Yes, 
there  are  two  trunks  in  the  van  and  a  hat-box,"  she 
said.  "Is  there  any  one  to  meet  me?  I  am  Miss 
Ivors. " 

"Here's  Mrs.  Ivors,  miss,"  answered  the  porter. 
"Am  I  to  fetch  your  boxes  up  to  Whitecot  presently?" 

"Wait  a  moment." 

Hildred  turned  to  meet  her  mother,  who  had  come 
near  during  the  interlude. 

"You  are  Hildred,  I  suppose?"  said  Mrs.  Ivors, 
holding  out  her  hand.  "How  do  you  do?" 

"Yes,  I  am  Hildred,"  replied  the  girl,  taking  it. 
"I  am  very  well,  thank  you." 

The  same  grey  eyes,  clear  as  rain,  looked  at  each 
other  from  the  opposing  faces.  It  was  a  moment 
which  should  have  been  compact  of  emotion,  the 
meeting  of  unknown  mother  with  unknown  daughter, 
but  the  air  was  charged  with  an  electricity  of  conflict 
rather  than  communion,  and  there  was  a  flash,  as  of 
steel,  from  glance  to  glance. 

"Straight  as  a  rush" — and  as  spare.  Yes,  that 
description  still  applied.  The  fresh  complexion  had 
become  fixed  in  a  dull  red  mesh,  and  the  colourless 
hair,  once  a  soft  brown,  was  cropped  close  as  a  man's, 
and  surmounted  by  a  man's  straw  hat  with  a  black 
ribbon  band.  Mrs.  Ivors  was  dressed  in  a  dark  grey 
coat  and  skirt,  severely  cut,  a  white  shirt  with  a  stiff 


1 6  The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

collar  fastened  by  a  small  black  bow,  which  was  pinned 
crooked,  and  black  brogued  shoes. 

"I  've  told  Johnny  to  bring  up  your  boxes  pre- 
sently, "  she  said.  "We  '11  walk  up  to  Whitecot.  It 's 
only  a  stone's  throw.  I  hope  you  are  a  good  walker." 

She  spoke  with  the  air  of  one  to  whom  social  ameni- 
ties came  with  difficulty,  as  she  flashed  a  quick  glance 
at  Hildred's  shoes. 

The  girl  caught  the  glance,  apprehending  disparage- 
ment. 

"I  can  do  eight  or  ten  miles  a  day,"  she  returned, 
"and  I  have  two  pairs  of  strong  boots  in  my  box." 

"Are  you  a  golfer,  by  any  chance?"  asked  Mrs. 
Ivors,  with  a  glimmer  of  interest. 

"No,  I  have  never  even  seen  it  played." 

' '  Ah !    There  are  good  links  not  far  from  Burnaby . ' ' 

"Perhaps  I  could  learn." 

"It  is  always  'perhaps'  as  regards  golf,"  said  Mrs. 
Ivors,  dubiously.  "Even  I,  enthusiastic  as  I  am,  find 
it  as  disheartening  as  it  is  fascinating.  Do  you  mind 
coming  along  this  lane?  It  is  a  short  cut  to  White- 
cot,  and  I  don't  want  to  go  through  the  village. " 

"I  love  short  cuts,"  answered  Hildred,  feeling  for 
the  first  time  a  faint  spark  of  sympathy  with  her 
mother.  She  could  well  understand  why  she  did  not 
wish  to  go  through  the  village  with  a  hitherto  unheard- 
of  daughter  in  her  train. 

As  they  turned  into  the  lane  Mrs.  Ivors  pulled  off 
her  coat,  and  Hildred  noticed  that  the  stud  had  fallen 
out  of  the  back  of  her  collar,  leaving  a  line  of  tanned 
neck  exposed ;  also  that  the  end  of  the  safety-pin  which 
connected  skirt  and  shirt  protruded  from  beneath  her 
black  leather  belt.  It  was  a  white  safety-pin,  too. 


4 '  Unknown,  Unkissed  "  17 

Conversation  languished.  There  seemed  nothing 
to  say.  The  round  world  seemed  suddenly  empty 
of  anything  that  could  provoke  remark.  In  silence 
they  came  to  a  gate,  which  Mrs.  Ivors  opened. 

"Here  we  are,"  she  said,  with  a  sigh  of  unmistak- 
able relief. 

They  entered  an  untidy  place,  shaggy  of  grass  and 
overgrown  of  shrub,  divided  by  a  path  once  gravelled, 
but  now  beaten  bare  down  the  centre  while  the  gravel 
lay  in  ridges  on  either  side.  Whitecot  itself  loomed 
in  front  of  them,  as  coldly  whitewashed,  as  repellently 
bare  as  any  wind-swept  coastguard  station. 

The  hall  door  stood  open.  There  was  no  sign  of  life 
about  the  place.  Hildred,  sensitive  to  impressions, 
felt  as  if  this  was  unusual.  The  round  patches  on  the 
grass  and  near  the  shrubs  looked  as  if  animals  habitu- 
ally rested  there,  but  otherwise  there  was  no  hint  of 
their  presence. 

"I  told  Katherine  to  lock  up  the  dogs,"  said  Mrs. 
Ivors,  oddly  answering  her  thoughts.  "Oh,  no, 
not  on  account  of  you,  but  because  of  Johnny  the 
porter.  They  hate  him  and  he  is  terrified  of  them. 
I  am  always  afraid  that  they  '11  bite  him." 

"And  that  you  '11  be  obliged  to  have  them 
destroyed." 

Mrs.  Ivors  nodded.  "If  they  bit  Johnny  it  would 
disagree  with  them  in  some  way  or  other."  She 
opened  a  door  leading  off  the  hall.  "Will  you  go  in 
there  for  a  minute,  please,  while  I  just  look  in  at  the 
dogs  to  see  that  they  're  all  right  ?" 

She  was  gone  before  Hildred  could  answer.  The 
girl  stopped  on  the  threshold,  and  looked  about  the 
room  with  a  sense  of  surprise.  It  seemed  oddly 


1 8          The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

familiar  and  yet  it  was  quite  unlike  any  room  she  had 
ever  seen,  with  its  plain  bare  furniture,  its  shabby 
leather-covered  arm-chairs,  a  pair  of  rusty  foils  on  the 
wall,  a  case  of  golf-clubs,  so  brilliantly  polished  that, 
like  Blake's  tiger,  they  seemed  "burning  bright,"  a 
dusty  tennis  racquet  in  a  press,  a  rubber-handled  cro- 
quet mallet  of  peculiar  shape,  cigarette-boxes  on  the 
table,  an  ash-tray  or  two,  newly  painted  golf -balls  dry- 
ing on  the  window-ledge,  a  tantalus,  and  soda-water 
siphons  on  the  sideboard.  Where  had  she  seen  it  all 
before?  Where  read  of  it?  Where  heard  of  it? 
Swift  on  the  thought  flashed  the  clue,  and  she  remem- 
bered the  lady  in  the  train. 

This  was  the  room  she  had  laughingly  sketched  for 
her  husband,  and  her  mother — yes,  her  mother — must 
be  the  Harry  at  whom  they  had  mocked. 

H.  D.  Ivors.  Harriet  Bering  Ivors — Harry.  The 
transition  was  absurdly  easy.  Hildred's  face  burned 
suddenly,  but  her  lips  trembled. 


CHAPTER  II 

REEDS  BECOME  DARTS 

T  IILDRED  stood  still  for  a  moment,  a  riot  of 
JTl  sensations  linked  about  her  preventing  motion. 
A  chasm  seemed  to  separate  her  from  the  ordered 
security,  the  eventless  calm  of  the  past.  What  had 
she,  with  her  studies  of  the  culture  of  larger  Europe, 
her  cosmopolitan  experiences,  to  do  with  this  futile 
devotee  of  bat  and  ball?  If  she  had  led  the  life  of 
the  average  English  hockey-playing  girl,  she  thought 
bitterly,  she  would  have  had  more  in  common  with  her 
mother.  She  was  tired  and  pricked  with  disappoint- 
ment. The  reality  differed  sharply  even  from  her 
vaguest  expectations. 

She  looked  again  at  the  dusty  tennis  racquet,  the 
gleaming  golf-clubs,  and  the  sight  unchained  her. 
She  moved  towards  the  empty  fireplace  and  sank 
down  into  one  of  the  shabby  chairs.  The  leather 
was  rubbed  into  holes  in  places,  through  which 
sprouted  tufts  of  black  horsehair;  the  spring  of 
the  seat  was  broken  and  sank  into  a  canvas  bag 
underneath,  but  the  chair  was  comfortable  and 
adapted  itself  consolingly  to  the  human  frame  in  a 
lounging  posture,  a  condition  of  things  more  often  to 
be  noted  in  the  chair  of  a  man  than  of  a  woman.  An 

19 


2O  The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

ash-tray  stood  on  a  carved  stool  beside  it,  and  an 
instant  vision  of  feet  on  the  chimney-piece  seen 
through  a  haze  of  cigarette-smoke  flashed  vividly 
across  Hildred's  mind. 

The  door  swung  ajar  behind  her.  Through  it  the 
evening  air  struck  a  little  chill.  Hildred  would  have 
been  glad  of  a  fire — the  flame  that  so  often  warms 
mentally  as  well  as  physically. 

From  the  hall  outside  came  the  introductory  sound 
of  heavy  footsteps  and  murmuring  voices,  leading  up 
to  a  fugue  of  bumps  and  thumps,  which  was  chorused 
by  the  faint  far  barking  of  dogs. 

"My  trunks,"  thought  the  girl.  "Evidently  the 
dogs  hear,  and  hunger  for  the  blood  of  Johnny  the 
porter.  I  suppose  some  one  is  with  him,  and  that  I 
need  n't  worry  about  the  things." 

Some  one  was  with  him.  In  a  moment  a  woman 
stalked  into  the  room — a  veritable  Grenadier  in  petti- 
coats, raw-boned  and  weather-beaten — and  demanded 
a  shilling. 

"  For  what?  "  asked  Hildred. 

"For  Johnny  the  porter,  miss.  He  's  just  brought 
up  your  boxes — the  whole  lot  of  them."  Her  tone 
suggested  a  waggon-load,  rather  than  the  three  which 
Hildred  considered  quite  a  modest  allowance. 

"Is  a  shilling  enough?"  she  inquired. 

"Tis  what  he  asked,  miss.  Pay  him  no  more." 
She  took  the  shilling  and  strode  out  of  the  room, 
the  strings  of  her  cap  fluttering  absurdly  as  she 
went. 

A  butterfly  on  a  block  of  granite  had  more  congruity 
and  less  contrast  in  its  placing  than  that  ridiculous 
white  bow  on  Katherine  Saunders's  head.  It  was  a 


Reeds  Become  Darts  21 

concession  to  convention  demanded  by  herself,  and 
she  was  fortunately  unaware  of  its  ludicrous  effect. 

Tired  and  depressed  as  she  was,  Mildred  could  not 
help  smiling  when  Katherine  came  in  again,  this  time 
bearing  a  tea-tray  with  a  cup  and  saucer,  a  dumpy 
brown  teapot,  and  some  slices  of  bread  and  butter  on  a 
plate  patterned  with  rosebuds. 

The  smile  woke  a  flicker  in  Katherine's  gaunt  face 
as  she  removed  the  ash-tray  and  set  the  other  on  the 
stool  beside  the  girl. 

"There!  You '11  want  your  tea.  My  duty  to  you, 
miss.  I  suppose  you  don't  remember  Katherine." 

The  tone  was  dry,  drained  of  expectation  or  emotion, 
yet  Hildred  found  herself  wishing  that  she  could  rake 
up  some  lost  memory  from  the  forgotten  past  to  which 
Katherine  evidently  belonged. 

"I  'm  afraid  I  don't.     I  was  very  little  when — 
she  stopped  abruptly  and  flushed.     "Were  you  my 
nurse  long  ago?" 

"  No,  miss.  I  was  your  grandmamma's  housemaid. 
When  she  died  I  came  to  live  with  your  mamma. 
This  is  the  little  plate  you  used  to  have  when  you  came 
to  Hurst,  miss.  '  Baby  'osy  p'ate '  you  used  to  call  it." 

The  sound  of  baby  words  from  those  thin  lips  had 
no  incongruity  for  Hildred.  Here  was  some  one  who 
remembered,  who  perhaps  had  loved  her  in  her  lost 
childhood.  A  rush  of  tears  flooded  her  eyes.  She 
shut  the  thick  fringe  of  her  lashes  upon  them,  but  one 
or  two  clear  drops  forced  their  way  through,  trembling 
before  they  fell  silently,  and  rolled,  uncommented 
upon,  down  her  cheeks.  When  she  opened  her  eyes 
Katherine  had  poured  her  out  a  cup  of  tea  with  blobs 
of  cream  on  the  top. 


22  The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

"I  didn't  put  in  any  sugar.  Some  people  don't 
like  it." 

"I  like  a  little,"  Hildred  answered.  "What  deli- 
cious tea !  I  never  tasted  anything  so  good.  I  believe 
it 's  because  't  was  made  in  a  brown  teapot.  It  never 
tastes  so  nice  out  of  any  other  kind. " 

"  Now  eat  up  that  bread  and  butter,  every  bit  of  it, " 
commanded  Katherine,  "or  I  '11  cut  you  a  slice  less 
next  time.  You  should  have  had  the  silver  teapot 
only  your  mamma  could  not  remember  where  she  had 
put  the  key  of  the  plate-chest. " 

"I  'd  much  rather  have  the  brown  one.  I  'm  sure 
it  was  out  of  a  brown  teapot  Mother  Elder  came." 
Hildred  spoke  simply  and  naturally  as  to  an  old  friend, 
not  realising  any  oddity  in  the  situation. 

Katherine  stood  beside  her,  looking  down  at  her 
with  a  face  devoid  of  any  expression  but  a  truculent 
friendliness. 

"  There  you  go  with  your  whimsies  just  as  when  you 
were  a  baby  child!  You  'd  pretend  to  pick  the  roses 
off  of  that  plate  and  smell  them,  and  give  some  to  me 
and  say,  'One  for  Kat'in.'  ' 

"Were  you  fond  of  me  then,  Katherine?" 

Katherine  shied  at  emotion.  ' '  Fond  ?  What  fond  ? 
I  've  no  time  for  nonsense, "  she  said,  picking  up  the 
tea-tray.  "  I  'd  better  tell  your  mamma  that  Johnny 
has  gone  and  that  she  can  let  out  them  dogs.  I  '11  put 
a  can  of  hot  water  in  your  room,  for  you  '11  be  glad  of  a 
wash  after  your  journey,  miss.  Will  you  come  with 
me?  Or  perhaps  your  mamma  would  like  to  take  you 
up  herself." 

"I'll  wait  for  her,  thank  you,  Katherine,"  said 
Hildred,  warmed  more  by  the  first  touch  of  humanity 


Reeds  Become  Darts  23 

she  had  encountered  than  by  the  material  comfort  of 
the  tea. 

As  Katherine  marched  away,  her  cap-strings  seemed 
to  the  girl  like  the  vanishing  flutter  of  a  flag  of  truce. 
There  was  nothing  really  rude  about  her  brusquerie; 
it  merely  marked  the  uncompromising  attitude 
towards  life  of  a  strong  personality.  Hildred  felt  that 
she  had  found  a  friend ;  that  whatever  hidden  chord  of 
feeling  her  baby  hands  had  touched  was  ready  to 
vibrate  again  at  her  need. 

A  distant  barking  and  yelping  was  followed  by  what 
seemed  to  the  girl  a  veritable  tornado  of  dogs,  a  cy- 
clone of  leaping,  barking,  excited  creatures  of  which 
she  was  the  centre.  Yet,  when  the  whirlwind  sub- 
sided and  resolved  itself  into  its  panting  elements  she 
saw  that  there  were  but  four,  a  fox-terrier,  an  Irish 
terrier,  a  retriever,  and  a  queer  mongrel,  black,  shaggy, 
and  fierce-looking,  which  Mrs.  Ivors  had  once  rescued 
from  drowning,  and  which  had  been  ever  since  her 
slave  and  her  shadow. 

"These  are  Nip,  Pat,  and  Como, "  she  named  them ; 
then  her  eyes  softened  a  little  as  she  gently  hit  the 
mongrel's  head,  "and  this  is  Tartar,  the  best  watch- 
dog in  the  world.  I  saved  his  life  and  he  's  never 
forgotten  it.  I  believe  it  was  Johnny  the  porter  who 
tried  to  drown  him  and  that  's  why  they  all  have  a 
grudge  against  him.  This  fellow  shows  every  white 
tooth  in  his  head  when  he  sees  him,  eh,  don't  you,  you 
old  savage?  Go  over  and  make  friends  with  Miss 
Ivors." 

The  big  beast  rose  and  went  slowly  over  to  Hildred, 
smelled  her  hand  and  sniffed  at  her  skirt,  and  then 
returned  to  his  mistress.  The  other  dogs  had  already 


24  The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

responded  to  her  advances.  Indeed,  Nip,  the  fox- 
terrier,  had  calmly  curled  himself  up  against  her  foot, 
prepared  for  slumber. 

"You  've  a  way  with  dogs,  I  see,"  said  Mrs.  Ivors, 
in  her  curt  fashion. 

"I  am  fond  of  animals." 

"  I  distrust  any  one  who  is  n't.  There  must  be  some 
black  spot  in  them.  Most  women  spoil  dogs  horribly. 
I  don't." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  spoiling?" 

"  Pampering,  over-feeding,  under-exercising,  making 
puppets  of  them  and  not  treating  them  as  the  rational 
beings  they  are.  These  fellows  only  get  one  meal  a 
day,  with  an  odd  bone  now  and  again.  Look  at  their 
condition !  You  can  feel  their  ribs.  They  have  none 
of  the  wheezy  puffiness  of  women's  dogs.  They  're 
not  the  soft  fat  beasts  that  lie  about  on  cushions. 
They  're  as  keen  as  mustard  on  sport  and  exercise. 
People  here  borrow  them  for  rat-hunts,  but  a  rat- 
hunt  is  a  thing  I  bar. "  She  flung  her  hat  aside,  as  a 
man  would  on  entering  a  room,  looked  for  matches  and 
lit  a  cigarette,  then  sat  down  in  the  chair  opposite 
Hildred.  "No,  I  bar  the  taking  of  life,"  Mrs.  Ivors 
continued,  drawing  in  the  smoke  with  evident  enjoy- 
ment. "Life,  such  as  it  is,  is  given  to  every  created 
thing,  and  no  one  has  any  right  to  take  it  wantonly. " 

"What  about  fishing?"  asked  Hildred. 

"That's  not  taking  it  wantonly.  The  fish  are 
killed  to  be  eaten — a  very  different  matter.  '  Live  and 
let  live'  is  one  of  my  mottoes.  Apropos  of  which, 
that 's  my  favourite  chair  you  are  sitting  in,  and  I 
never  feel  really  comfortable  in  any  other. " 

Hildred  rose,  flushed  and  uncomfortable. 


Reeds  Become  Darts  25 

"I  am  very   sorry.     I  could    not    possibly  know 


"No,  how  could  you?"  said  Mrs.  Ivors,  with  a 
sudden  odd  little  chuckle.  "Now,  don't  get  red  and 
offended.  '  No  offence  meant,  none  taken, '  is  another 
of  my  mottoes,  and  if  you  're  not  looking  out  for  other 
people's  corns  you  are  far  less  likely  to  tread  on  'em. 
We  11  have  a  straight  talk  this  evening,  you  and  I,  and 
then  we  '11  start  fair  to-morrow." 

"I  should  like  to  go  to  my  room  now  and  unpack — 
if  you  don't  mind." 

"Why  should  I  mind?  Off  with  you.  There  is  no 
standing  on  ceremony  at  Whitecot,  as  you  '11  soon  find 
out." 

Mrs.  Ivors  rose  and  ensconced  herself  in  the  vacated 
chair,  while  Hildred,  who  thought  she  was  following 
her,  moved  towards  the  door.  On  the  threshold  she 
turned  to  see  her  fleeting  vision  crystallised  into 
reality.  Through  a  blue  haze  of  cigarette-smoke  she 
saw  her  mother  reclining  in  the  depths  of  the  chair,  her 
feet,  if  not  exactly  on  the  chimney-piece,  resting  on  the 
top  ledge  of  the  grate,  Tartar's  black  head  against  her 
knee,  her  whole  attitude  instinct  with  lazy  content. 
It  was  a  pose  so  contradictory  to  the  declaration  of 
energy  made  by  the  clubs  and  racquets  that  Hildred 
felt  for  the  first  time  how  much  she  had  still  to  learn 
of  her  own  sex,  dubbed  by  the  caustic  Foote  "  a  micro- 
cosm. "  She  regretted  the  vague  impulse  which  had 
led  her  to  refuse  Katherine's  offer  in  order  to  wait  for 
her  mother,  who  was  not  even  looking  in  her  direction, 
but  seemed  intent  upon  the  symmetry  of  the  smoke- 
rings  she  was  blowing  into  the  air.  The  aloof  absorp- 
tion of  the  pose  chilled  the  girl  afresh.  She  had  opened 


26          The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

her  lips  for  an  inquiry,  but  closed  the  gates  of  speech 
with  a  mental  clang  as  she  turned  away. 

There  were  no  architectural  complexities  at  White- 
cot  ;  the  hall  narrowed  at  the  stairway  into  a  passage 
which  led  directly  into  the  kitchen,  where  a  cheery 
clattering  and  clanking  premised  the  presence  of 
Katherine. 

Hildred  stood  at  the  door  and  looked  in.  It  was  a 
pleasant  concentration  of  comfort  and  cleanliness, 
with  its  cream  walls  and  red  hearthplace,  its  tiled 
floor  inviting  entry,  its  brasses  and  coppers  winking 
welcome,  and  a  canary  in  the  sunny  window  trilling 
fioriture,  with  a  delicious  ease  which  a  Tetrazzini 
might  have  envied  but  never  hoped  to  equal. 

Katherine  was  chopping  spinach  at  the  table  facing 
the  door,  and  looked  up  when  she  saw  Hildred.  The 
girl  smiled  instinctively,  though  there  was  no  apparent 
provocative  or  response  in  the  hard  gaunt  face.  It 
was  rather  an  intuitive  perception  of  a  deeply  hidden 
tenderness,  an  unconscious  illogical  sympathy  which 
some  mysterious  inexpressible  radiation  from  Kather- 
ine evoked  than  any  outward  realisation  of  attraction. 

"You  have  n't  taken  off  your  things  yet,  miss," 
Katherine  asserted  gruffly,  with  a  perfect  grasp  of  the 
situation.  "  Come  along  up  with  me  this  minute  and 
give  me  your  keys  and  I  '11  take  out  some  of  your 
traps  for  you." 

"Will  that  thing  spoil  by  being  left?"  asked  Hildred 
pointing  to  the  spinach. 

"That  thing  indeed!  It 's  easily  seen  you  're  not 
country-bred  to  call  my  beautiful  spinach  that  thing! " 

' '  Is  that  spinach  ? ' '  The  girl  delicately  touched  one 
long  green  leaf.  "  I  never  saw  it  in  that  stage  before. " 


Reeds  Become  Darts  27 

"You  will  again,  miss,  before  you  're  much  older. 
I  grow  it  out  in  the  garden  beyond. " 

"  Oh,  is  there  a  garden  ?     I  love  a  garden." 

"  Only  a  kitchen-garden,  miss.  I  grow  my  own  pot- 
herbs and  as  many  vegetables  as  I  can  manage. " 

"  Does — my  mother ?  " 

"Bless  you,  no,  miss.  Your  mamma  has  no  head 
for  gardening,  nor  no  hands  either.  As  likely  as  not 
she  'd  stick  things  root  uppermost.  I  found  her 
planting  some  primroses  upside-down  once,  but  she 
said  it  was  because  she  wanted  them  to  come  up  pink ! " 

"What  an  extraordinary  idea!"  cried  the  girl,  who 
thought  it  the  conception  of  a  lunatic. 

"  Folks  about  here  say  it 's  true,  but  these  ones  had 
never  a  chance,  for  them  dogs  scratched  'em  all  up 
again. " 

"Perhaps  you  'd  let  me  help  you  with  the  garden 
sometimes." 

"Perhaps  I  would,"  returned  Katherine,  "but  this 
won't  unpack  your  boxes  and  I  'm  a  busy  woman. " 

She  stalked  out  of  the  kitchen,  sniffing  disapprov- 
ingly as  she  passed  the  dining-room  door.  Hildred  felt 
a  mischievous  inclination  to  probe  for  her  opinions 
on  smoking,  but  knew  that  in  the  circumstances  the 
impulse  was  unseemly.  Her  restraint  was  rewarded 
by  one  emphatic  utterance  from  Katherine,  addressed 
apparently  to  the  top  of  the  stairs,  as  she  looked 
neither  to  right  nor  to  left  as  she  mounted  rigidly 
upwards. 

"I  don't  hold  with  women  copying  men's  habits. 
They  've  enough  messy  ways  of  their  own  without 
picking  up  theirs.  This  is  your  room,  miss."  She 
threw  open  a  door  on  the  landing. 


28  The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

It  led  into  a  narrow  slip  of  a  room  which  ran  the 
length  of  the  house  and  had  a  window  at  either  end, 
one  of  which  looked  into  a  neat  kitchen-garden,  the 
other  on  the  untidy,  overgrown  front.  Its  walls  were 
papered  in  white  with  a  trellis  pattern  of  rosebuds,  and 
the  short  casement-curtains  were  of  a  soft  pink  through 
which  the  sunshine  at  the  western  window  filtered  in  a 
rosy  glow.  There  were  rosebuds  on  the  bedspread, 
and  a  rose-chintz  covered  the  low  basket-chair.  It 
was  all  fresh,  fragrantly  symbolic  of  the  opening  rose 
of  womanhood  for  whom  it  had  been  planned. 

Katherine  stood  on  the  threshold  and  looked  about 
her  with  grim  pride.  Hildred's  quick  glance  scanned 
the  room  from  end  to  end.  She  was  surprised,  charm- 
ed, and  oddly  touched.  Here,  surely  were  mother- 
thought,  mother-care,  subtly,  unobtrusively  expressed. 
She  drew  a  long  breath,  realising,  as  she  saw  the  pretty, 
dainty  room,  that  she  was  tired,  and  that  here  in  this 
strange  house  was  a  haven,  an  oasis,  a  well-spring  of 
rest.  In  imagination  she  saw  one  or  two  of  her 
favourite  pictures  on  the  walls,  some  of  her  best- 
beloved  books  on  the  little  bow-legged  table. 

Katherine's  voice  broke  harshly  upon  her  pleasant 
musings. 

"I  suppose  it 's  nothing  like  as  grand  as  you  're 
accustomed  to,  but  it  's  the  best  we  can  do  here  for 
you." 

"  Oh,  Katherine,  it 's  lovely! "  cried  the  girl  in  warm 
repentance  for  her  abstraction.  "It's  perfectly 
charming.  No  one  could  desire  a  prettier  room. " 

"  H'm.     You  took  long  enough  to  say  so,  miss. " 

"I  was  day-dreaming — a  silly  habit  of  mine." 

"There's  not  much  to  encourage  day-dreams  at 


Reeds  Become  Darts  29 

Whitecot,"  Katherine  returned.  "Give  me  your 
keys." 

Hildred  handed  them  over,  and  sat  down  in  the 
chair  near  the  west  window.  Over  the  low  garden 
wall  she  saw  a  green  field  starred  with  daisies  and 
sheltered  with  trees  just  bursting  into  greenest  film 
of  leaf.  Through  the  thin  brown  branches  she  caught 
a  glimpse  of  dim  blue  hills,  a  gracious  rolling  outline 
towards  which  the  sun  was  slowly  sinking.  The 
fruit-trees  in  the  little  garden  beneath  were  breaking 
into  a  mist  of  bloom,  though  the  rosy  buds  of  the 
gnarled  apple-tree  beneath  her  had  not  yet  unfolded 
their  incense-filled  cups  to  the  sun.  On  its  topmost 
branch  a  thrush  fluted,  answering  one  in  the  distant 
elms  whose  roulades  were  thinned  to  the  elfin  silver 
of  an  echo. 

Hildred  listened,  chin  on  hand,  while  the  balm  of 
evening  stole  softly  into  her  heart. 

"Dinner's  at  half -past  seven,"  said  Katherine, 
rising  from  her  knees.  "I  've  taken  out  all  you  '11 
want  for  the  present,  and  if  you  leave  the  rest  I  '11 
do  them  after  dinner.  We  don't  dress, "  she  added  as 
an  afterthought. 

"Don't  we?  Thank  you  very  much,  Katherine, 
but  please  don't  bother  about  the  rest.  I  am  quite 
used  to  looking  after  myself. " 

"So  much  the  better, "  said  Katherine  gruffly. 

She  went  to  the  washstand  to  put  away  Mildred's 
sponge-bag,  then  she  fidgeted  a  little  with  the  girl's 
silver  and  ivory  toilet-set ;  then  she  laid  a  pink  dressing 
gown  in  readiness  on  the  end  of  the  bed — a  Japanese 
cre"pe  with  a  design  of  storks  in  flight. 

"You  'd  think  you  got  this  to  match  the  room," 


30  The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

she  said,  lingering  unaccountably.  "It's  a  funny 
pattern — all  them  birds. " 

"Yes,"  answered  Hildred  softly.  "I  love  a  pink 
and  white  bedroom.  How  did  my  mother  know,  I 
wonder?" 

"Your  mamma?"  Katherine  paused  on  the  thresh- 
old in  an  attitude  of  arrested  expectancy.  "  She  takes 
no  account  of  them  things,  bless  her!" 

"Who  chose  it  all,  then?" 

"Well,  miss,"  mumbled  Katherine,  as  embarrassed 
at  the  desired  question  as  if  she  had  been  taxed  with 
some  misdemeanour,  "it  was  myself." 

"You,  Katherine?  How — how  very  clever  of 
you!" 

"What  clever?"  sniffed  Katherine.  "Your 
mamma  give  me  a  good  cheque,  and  said  to  do 
the  best  I  could  with  it,  as  she  knew  nothing 
about  them  things.  So  I  got  one  of  them  'Hints 
on  House  Decoration'  books,  and  a  nice  wall-paper 
recommended  in  '  Room  for  a  Young  Lady '  and  did 
the  rest  myself." 

"What?     Not  the  papering  and  painting?" 

"Every  dash  of  it." 

"You  're  wonderful,  Katherine." 

"  Oh,  no,  miss,  there  was  nothing  wonderful  about  it. 
You  see,  my  poor  father  was  a  sailor,  so  I  was  born 
handy  so  to  speak.  Don't  look  too  close  at  them 
little  curtains,  for  the  stitches  are  n't  as  small  as  I  'd 
wish." 

"  But  how  did  you  guess  my  tastes  so  exactly?  " 

Katherine  fumbled  with  the  door-handle,  and  gave 
a  contemptuous  little  grunt. 

"It 's  fair  ridiculous  the  way  trifles  will  stick  in  a 


Reeds  Become  Darts  31 

person's  mind."  She  was  half-way  out  of  the  room 
as  she  spoke.  "You  see,  miss,  I — I  remembered  the 
rosy  plate. " 

She  shut  the  door  behind  her  with  a  bang. 


CHAPTER  III 
"NO  OFFENCE  MEANT" 

T  TILDRED'S  mind  was  in  a  whirl  as  she  went 
11  downstairs  to  dinner.  She  had  changed  her 
coat  and  skirt  for  a  simple  frock  of  palest  grey,  whose 
turned-back  collar  of  lace  was  fastened  with  a  knot  of 
deep  rose.  A  ribbon  to  match  was  twisted  through 
her  soft  masses  of  hair.  Her  cheeks  were  lit  by  an 
inner  excitement,  and  her  throat  rose  round  and 
white  above  the  cobweb  lace.  She  looked,  as  far  as 
external  appearance  went,  a  daughter  of  whom  any 
mother  might  well  feel  proud. 

She  had  been  since  her  arrival  the  pendulum  of  her 
own  emotions,  whose  alternations  made  her  feel  a 
mental  dizziness.  A  sensation  of  warmth  stole  about 
her  heart  when  she  thought  of  the  crusty  Katherine, 
and  a  barrier  of  chill  aloofness  loomed  forbiddingly 
when  her  fancy  strayed  towards  her  mother. 

The  sunny  kitchen  and  the  Mother  Elder  teapot 
seemed  to  typify  the  one  feeling,  the  cheerless  sitting- 
room  with  its  smoke-obscured  occupant  the  other. 
She  felt  an  unwonted  nervousness  as  she  turned  the 
handle  of  the  door  and  went  in,  to  meet  with  yet 
another  contradiction  of  expectancy. 

A  fire  crackled  invitingly  in  the  grate;  the  curtains 
32 


"No  Offence  Meant"  33 

were  drawn;  the  table,  sparkling  with  glass  and  silver, 
was  lit  by  scarlet-shaded  candles  in  branching  cande- 
labra. Comfort,  hitherto  absent  from  the  room, 
now  radiated  an  invitation  to  enter. 

Mrs.  Ivors  stood  on  the  hearthrug,  her  back  to  the 
fire,  her  hands  clasped  behind  her.  Her  concession 
to  the  social  code  consisted  of  a  black  brocade  skirt  of 
antique  cut,  and  a  white  silk  shirt  adorned  at  the  neck 
with  a  cream  lace  tie  whose  ends  were  caught  together 
with  a  gold  brooch  in  a  design  of  crossed  golf-clubs. 
No  pin  fastened  the  tie  to  the  shirt  at  the  neck,  where 
an  angle  of  silk  neck-band  had  already  worked  its  way 
out  from  beneath  it;  the  patent-leather  belt  which 
incongruously  connected  bodice  and  skirt  was  much 
tighter  than  the  waistband  of  the  latter,  which  was 
visible  all  the  way  round. 

"You  look  very  smart,"  she  said  to  Hildred,  with 
her  odd  little  chuckle.  "Very  smart  and  very 
feminine." 

An  obvious  retort  trembled  upon  the  girl's  lips, 
but  she  restrained  it,  and  answered  quietly: 

"I  am  glad  you  like  my  frock.  Cousin  Antoinette 
liked  it  best  of  all  my  new  ones." 

"  Oh,  I  did  n't  say  I  liked  it.  I  only  said  it  looked 
smart." 

"Well,  that 's  what  one  generally  aims  at  in  dress, 
is  n't  it?" 

"Is  it?  I  'm  sure  I  don't  know.  I  never  trouble 
my  head  about  such  things.  To  be  decently  and 
comfortably  clothed  is  all  that  is  necessary  to  my 
mind." 

"  Meredecency  is  n't  enough  surely,"  Hildred  began, 
every  feminine  instinct  afire. 

3 


34          The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

"No,  it 's  too  much  for  the  present  taste,"  put  in 
Mrs.  Ivors,  with  her  dry  chuckle.  "  Here  's  Katherine 
with  the  soup,  thank  goodness.  I  'm  as  hungry  as  a 
hawk." 

She  sat  down  without  waiting  for  Hildred,  as 
Katherine  placed  the  silver  soup-tureen  on  the  table. 

"Clear  soup?  You  know  I  don't  like  clear  soup, 
Katherine." 

"I  thought  young  miss  might,"  said  Katherine. 

"And  you  want  to  please  the  visitor,  eh?  You 
ought  to  feel  flattered,  Hildred." 

"  We  may  as  well  try  to,  any  way,"  retorted  Kather- 
ine, as  she  whisked  a  soup  plate  in  front  of  Hildred. 

"I  like  any  kind  of  soup,"  began  the  girl,  "from 
bouillon  to " 

"Please  talk  English,"  Mrs.  Ivors  interrupted. 
"I  don't  understand  any  language  but  my  own,  and 
not  all  of  that  either." 

"What  part?"  asked  Hildred,  interested  at  the 
unexpected  ending  of  the  sentence. 

"  The  artistic  jargon  and  cult-of-beauty  piffle," 
she  returned  with  a  frown.  "I  suppose  you  are  full 
of  it  after  your  three  years  abroad." 

"I  enjoyed  the  picture-galleries,  certainly,"  replied 
Hildred  quietly,  though  a  flush  stole  over  her  face. 
The  words  jarred  the  ivory  doors  of  some  inner  shrine. 

"No  need  to  get  red  because  a  person's  tastes  don't 
coincide  with  yours.  How  narrow  people's  minds 
would  become  if  they  only  talked  to  those  who  agreed 
with  every  word  they  said!  Argument  is  the  spice 
of  life." 

"And  contradiction  the  pepper." 

Mrs.  Ivors  chuckled.     "  I  like  that.     Yes,  the  more 


"No  Offence  Meant"  35 

the  hotter  of  course.  I  believe  we  shall  get  on,  after 
all,  if  you  are  not  too  soft  to  creep  out  of  your  shell 
of  convention." 

Katherine  strode  in  with  a  dish  of  lamb. 

"Young  miss  likes  her  room,"  she  said,  dumping  it 
in  front  of  her  mistress. 

"Does  she?  That's  right.  For  myself  I  don't 
care  about  that  sort  of  thing.  Rooms  to  me  are 
places  to  eat  and  sleep  in  when  they  belong  to  myself, 
to  be  fiendishly  bored  in  when  they  belong  to  other 
people.  Tea-parties,  for  instance,  where  you  are 
expected  to  sit  up  and  wag  your  tail." 

Hildred  laughed.  It  was  a  long  time  since  so 
youthful  a  sound  had  echoed  through  that  room.  It 
was  as  if  a  breath  of  spring  had  suddenly  materialised. 

"I  cannot  imagine  you  either  begging  or  wagging 
your  tail. 

"No,  can  you?  Neither  I  nor  my  dogs  are 
puppets." 

"Where  are  the  dogs,  by  the  way?" 

"  Tartar  is  here  at  my  feet.  The  others  are  out 
adventuring." 

"Like  the  three  Musketeers,"  said  Hildred,  her 
face  lit  up  by  the  spark  of  her  fancy. 

"Who  are  they?" 

"Oh — people  in  a  book,"  returned  the  girl  lamely. 
"A  book  of  Dumas's " 

"Another  of  your  foreigners,  I  suppose.  Well,  I 
hardly  ever  read  books.  I  don't  believe  in  'em. 
They  say  it  is  a  bad  bird  that  fouls  its  own  nest,  but 
one  of  those  writing  fellows  did  so — chap  named 
Spencer,  I  think.  He  said  that  book-knowledge  was 
knowledge  at  second-hand.  Decent  people  have  no 


36  The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

use  for  second-hand  goods.  I  don't  know  what  else 
the  fellow  wrote,  but  if  he  wrote  the  greatest  rot  in 
the  world  he  also  wrote  one  of  the  most  sensible  things 
a  man  ever  said.  Get  your  knowledge,  as  you  must 
get  your  experience,  at  first-hand,  or  not  at  all." 

"But  when  one  has  not  the  opportunity " 

"You  can  always  make  the  opportunity  for  what- 
ever you  want." 

"But  in  the  whole  range  of  literature  and 
science " 

"What  good  do  literature  and  science  do  if  you 
come  across  a  dog  with  a  broken  leg?"  asked  Mrs. 
Ivors  triumphantly.  Like  many  people  she  only 
enjoyed  an  argument  when  it  marched  victoriously 
along  one  side  of  a  subject,  and  that  her  own.  When 
the  banners  fluttered  in  the  other  direction  the  vaunted 
"spice  of  life"  lost  its  savour. 

Dimly  Hildred  realised  this,  and  determined  to 
pursue  the  topic  no  farther. 

"We  must  compromise,"  she  said,  with  determined 
lightness,  "or  else  agree  to  differ." 

"We  '11  agree  to  differ  then,"  returned  Mrs.  Ivors. 
"I  '11  have  nothing  to  do  with  compromises.  No," 
she  added,  drawing  her  brows  together,  "I  've  done 
with  compromise  for  ever." 

Some  memory  seemed  to  darken  her  thoughts. 
She  frowned  heavily  as  she  ate  the  crisp  lettuce- 
leaves  which  stood  near  her  in  a  cut-glass  bowl.  At 
last  she  looked  up  and  met  the  clear  young  gaze  of 
eyes  so  like  her  own  that  she  might  have  been  looking 
into  a  mirror. 

"  Your  name  was  a  compromise,"  she  said  suddenly. 
"I  wanted  to  call  you  Helena  after  my  mother; 


"  No  Offence  Meant "  37 

your  father  wished  to  call  you  Mildred  after  his.  He 
said  we  would  compromise,  so  you  were  christened 
Mildred!  You  see  how  much  I  got  by  the  com- 
promise!" She  gave  a  hard  little  laugh. 

Hildred  was  silent.  The  abrupt  lifting  of  the  veil 
of  the  past  was  poignant  to  the  point  of  speechless- 
ness.  It  was  as  if  she  were  suddenly  poised  upon  a 
peak  of  judgment  with  an  abyss  yawning  upon  either 
side. 

"One  little  letter,"  continued  Mrs.  Ivors,  with  a 
concentrated  bitterness.  "  That  is  about  all  I  have 
ever  got  by  compromise." 

Looking  downwards  from  Hildred 's  peak  she  saw 
that  mists  obscured  the  depths,  and  realised  in  a  flash 
that  without  clarity  of  vision  there  could  be  no  just 
perception  of  reality.  Whether  the  mists  were  of 
prejudice  or  ignorance  none  but  those  clear-sighted 
enough  to  penetrate  them  dare  presume  to  judge. 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Ivors.  "You  don't  say  any- 
thing?" 

"  I  have  nothing  to  say." 

"  It'  s  a  charity  to  find  a  modern  girl  who  has  sense 
enough  to  remain  silent  in  such  a  case  instead  of 
rushing  into  speech  with  unconsidered  drivel." 

Though  the  words  premised  a  vague  commenda- 
tion Hildred  could  not  feel  sure  that  approval  really 
rang  in  her  mother's  tone;  a  vague  vibration  of  dis- 
appointment seemed  to  sound  through  the  rough 
sentences.  It  was  a  relief  when  Mrs.  Ivors  rose,  and 
taking  a  handful  of  nuts  from  a  green  dish  plunged 
towards  her  favourite  chair. 

"Have  some,  too,"  she  said  to  the  girl.  "Bring 
'em  along  to  the  fire  and  eat  'em  here." 


38  The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

Hildred  put  a  few  on  a  plate  and  did  as  she  was 
requested,  first  handing  her  mother  the  nutcrackers. 

Mrs.  Ivors  indignantly  waved  them  away. 

"  What  do  I  want  them  for  while  my  teeth  are  sound 
and  strong?"  she  asked  cracking  a  nut  as  she  spoke. 

"They  won't  remain  so  long  if  you  continue  to  do 
that." 

"  They  '11  last  out  my  time,  or  as  long  as  I  want  'em 
to."  She  cracked  another  and  threw  the  shells  into 
the  fire. 

Hildred  shivered.  It  was  a  slight  but  irrepressible 
movement. 

Mrs.  Ivors  stared  fixedly  at  her,  a  nut  poised 
midway  between  lap  and  mouth  for  a  tense  second; 
then  it  fell  upon  the  silk  skirt  with  a  tiny  dull  noise. 

"Good  God,  how  like  your  father  you  are  when  you 
do  that!"  she  whispered. 

Hildred  was  startled.  The  words  of  reminiscence 
cut;  there  was  no  softening  balm  of  memory  to  heal 
the  wounds  they  made. 

"When  I  do  what?"  she  asked  dully. 

"Shiver  like  that.  Heavens,  that  little  shiver  and 
the  eyebrows  almost  disappearing  into  his  hair.  How 
you  bring  it  all  back!"  Mrs.  Ivors  stared  into  the 
fire  for  a  moment,  her  lips  drawn  into  a  thin  hard 
line.  Then  she  rose,  shook  the  nut-shells  into  the 
grate,  got  a  cigarette,  lit  it,  and  put  her  feet  upon 
the  ledge. 

"  It 's  not  your  fault,  child,"  she  said  at  last,  with 
an  evident  desire  to  be  absolutely  fair.  "You  can't 
help  it.  We  '11  change  the  subject.  I  'm  not  in  the 
humour  for  spirit-raising  to-night." 

"I  must  say  one  thing  before  we  change  the  sub- 


"  No  Offence  Meant "  39 

ject,"  Hildred  answered.  She  looked  very  fair  and 
young  in  her  grey  gown  as  she  leaned  against  the 
chimney-piece  looking  down  at  the  sleek  cropped  head 
of  her  mother,  haloed,  unsaintly,  by  the  cigarette- 
smoke's  hazy  blue. 

"And  that  is?"  Mrs.  Ivors  made  a  ring  with 
elaborate  care. 

"That  is  that  it  cannot  be  such  a  surprise  to  you  to 
find  that  I  am  like  my  father."  Hildred's  voice 
trembled  a  little ;  she  paused  for  a  second  to  steady  it. 
"  There  is  nothing  startling  in  the  fact  that  a  child 
should  resemble  one  or  other  of  its  parents,  even 
parents  whom  it  has  never  seen." 

"Sound,  if  slightly  inaccurate,"  Mrs.  Ivors  re- 
turned, with  a  careful  air  of  detachment.  "Trite  if 
true;  but  sarcasm  is  unbecoming  to  you,  my  dear 
Hildred." 

"I  had  no  intention  of  being  sarcastic." 

"  No  need  to  get  red  over  it.  Perhaps  you  had  n't. 
I  'm  nothing  if  not  fair.  You  '11  find  me  just  to  deal 
with,  Hildred,  if  nothing  more.  I  'm  always  honest. 
I  say  what  I  mean  and  mean  what  I  say.  The  naked 
truth  is  good  enough  for  me.  I  don't  want  trimmings 
or  fripperies." 

"  The  naked  truth  may  be  very  indecent.  There 
is  perhaps  a  necessary  garment  of  reticence." 

"I  don't  know  that  I  admit  that." 

"You  won't  leave  her  a  rag,  then?"  Hildred  felt 
again  that  tingle  of  amusement  which  her  mother's 
former  argument  had  provoked,  despite  the  sensation 
of  hurt  annoyance  which  pricked  her. 

"She  ought  n't  to  need  one." 

"  Then  it 's  sheer  curiosity  on  your  part,"  cried 


40  The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

Hildred  with  spirit.  "Poor  Truth!  No  wonder  she 
dives  to  the  bottom  of  a  well!" 

"You're  a  good  sort  after  all!"  said  Mrs.  Ivors, 
pulling  the  other  chair  near.  "  Sit  down  there  and  be 
sociable.  I  don't  care  what  you  do  or  say  so  long  as 
you  don't  shiver  disapproval  at  me.  That  I  cannot 
stand.  By  the  way  I  forgot  to  ask  you  if  you  smoked. " 

Hildred  shook  her  head  as  she  sank  into  the  chair, 
a  well-stuffed,  stiff,  scarcely  used  replica  of  its  dis- 
reputable but  comfortable  fellow.  She  felt  suddenly 
tired  and  lonely,  with  a  sense  of  having  been  cut 
adrift  in  the  dark. 

"  No?  It  's  the  one  bad  habit  I  learned  from  your 
father.  He  taught  me  first,  and  then  when  I  had  got 
to  look  upon  it  more  as  a  necessity  than  a  luxury  he 
— but  I  said  I  did  n't  want  spirit-raising  to-night, 
did  n't  I?" 

She  leaned  forward  and  poked  the  fire  so  vigorously 
that  the  grey  ashes  and  embers  rained  through  the 
bars,  leaving  but  a  fragment  of  fire  which  fell  apart 
in  disconsolate  fading  brightnesses. 

With  the  poker  still  in  her  hand  she  bent  towards 
Hildred,  spilling  cigarette  ashes  on  the  rubbed  brocade 
of  her  skirt.  "  Be  honest  with  me.  That 's  all  I  ask. 
No  pretence,  no  embroideries.  'No  offence  meant, 
none  taken. '  No  looking  out  for  slights,  no  huffiness, 
no  sarcasm.  '  Give  and  take, '  is  my  motto,  but  don't 
do  one  if  you  're  not  prepared  to  do  the  other.  All 
giving  is  very  nearly  as  bad  as  all  taking."  She 
paused  abruptly.  "Now  would  n't  you  like  to  go  to 
bed?  You  're  looking  tired,  though  I  don't  approve 
of  young  people  being  tired.  I  was  never  tired  when 
I  was  young. " 


"  No  Offence  Meant"  41 

"Were  you  ever  young?"  asked  Hildred  quietly. 
She  knew  that  the  question  savoured  of  imperti- 
nence, but  she  was  filled  with  a  numb  resentment 
against  Fate  in  general,  and  beside  that  cold  sense  as 
of  nothing  mattering  she  was  faintly  and  maliciously 
desirous  of  testing  Mrs.  Ivors's  remarkable  theories. 

The  dull  fixed  red  of  her  mother's  complexion 
became  suddenly  transformed  to  a  glow,  and  she 
looked  up  with  eyes  that  were  lit  by  the  quick  fire 
of  youth  itself. 

Hildred  had  an  instant  vision  of  alert  vivacious 
twenty  peeping  from  behind  the  hard  mask  of  two- 
score  years  and  ten. 

"  'No  offence  meant,  none  taken,'  I  hope,"  she 
quoted  softly,  with  an  odd  flash  of  sympathy,  inex- 
plicable, almost  undesired. 

Mrs.  Ivors  laughed.  The  glow  faded;  the  vision 
vanished.  Sweet  and  Twenty  was  dead;  slain  long 
ago  by  the  inexorable  years,  her  epitaph  engraved  in 
ever-deepening  lines  by  the  hieroglyphic  hand  of 
Time.  She  hesitated  for  a  moment. 

"None  taken,"  she  repeated.  "Off  with  you, 
Hildred.  Breakfast  at  half -past  eight.  Good-night. 
Would  you  like  a  dog  to  sleep  with  you?"  she  added 
in  hospitable  after-thought. 

"No,  thank  you,"  the  girl  answered,  her  indecision 
as  regarded  leave-taking  crystallised  to  the  omission 
of  ceremonial  by  her  mother's  curt  dismissal.  "  Good- 
night." 

The  hall-door  was  open;  she  stood  there  for  a 
moment  drawing  in  deep  breaths  of  the  cold,  sweet 
night  air.  The  sky  was  a  vast  blue  darkness  pricked 
with  trembling  stars,  a  far  aloof  immensity.  She 


42  The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

turned  away  with  a  little  shiver  and  mounted  the 
stairs  wearily  to  her  own  room.  A  thread  of  light 
gleamed  from  beneath  the  door,  widening  into  a  wel- 
come glow  as  she  pushed  it  open  and  entered,  to  find 
the  rosy  curtains  drawn,  a  little  lamp  burning  brightly 
and — oh,  feminine  luxury! — a  warm  hot-water  bottle 
nestling  between  the  cool  slipperiness  of  lavender- 
scented  linen  sheets.  The  outer  world  was  shut  out. 
Here  was  sanctuary,  warmed  and  scented,  and  sacred 
from  the  intrusion  of  anything  save  winged  thoughts 
that  would  not  be  debarred. 


CHAPTER  IV 

ON  THE  SHOCKING  OF  OYSTERS 

HILDRED  woke  at  dawn,  lapped,  forgetfully,  in 
all  the  soft  observances  of  custom.  She  turned 
drowsily  upon  the  other  side,  thinking,  as  far  as  her 
sleepy  consciousness  permitted,  that  presently  she 
would  hear  Cousin  Antoinette's  cuckoo-clock  send 
forth  five  or  six  sweet  hollow  calls  to  wakefulness, 
that  she  would  have  another  delicious  hour  or  two  of 
drowsiness  before  Mary  brought  up  her  early  tea 
and  prepared  her  bath,  that —  Her  thoughts  merged 
towards  slumber  again,  while  the  outside  world  held 
its  breath  in  the  dewy  silence  of  that  one  still  mystic 
moment  which  comes  before  its  awakening.  The 
grey  dawn  crept  in  a  tide  of  pale  light  farther  and 
farther  up  the  sky,  and  the  sigh  of  awaking  day 
breathed  imperceptibly  from  horizon  to  meadow, 
through  dew-drenched  lanes  and  perfumed  orchards, 
faintly  stirred  the  curtains  of  Hildred's  casement,  and 
stole  across  her  face  like  a  spirit-breath. 

She  moved;  she  awoke — to  full  consciousness  this 
time;  to  the  realisation  of  her  vanished  past  and 
unfamiliar  present;  awoke  with  a  dull  ache  of  un- 
recognising  wonder,  of  half -conscious,  half-checked 
resentment,  and  lay  there  in  her  straight  white  bed, 

43 


44  The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

gazing  round  the  dimly  seen  pretty  room,  as  yet 
unimpressed  by  the  personality  of  its  occupant.  It 
was  a  grey  moment  unlit  by  any  shaft  of  sunlight. 

Then,  sudden  and  beautiful  as  when  the  first 
morning-stars  sang  of  the  first  morning  mysteries,  a 
black-bird's  song,  "richest  carol  of  all  the  singing 
throats,"  clove  the  silence  with  a  golden  spear  of 
sound.  It  fell  apart,  shattered  in  an  exquisite 
"mosaic  of  the  air,"  bird-music  that  rang  from  leaf- 
filmed  tree  to  flowering  bushes  heavy  with  dew,  while 
an  undercurrent  of  pipe  and  twitter  shrilled  faintly 
from  packed  hedge  and  eave  and  garden. 

The  rose  of  dawn  unfolded  in  the  sky  to  the  lyric 
rapture  of  herald  larks,  and  on  the  cottage  roof  the 
first  swallows  preened  themselves  and  sang  their  soft 
love-songs  that  sound  so  like  twittering  bird-kisses. 

Hildred's  room  was  suffused  with  a  rose-light,  day 
gleaming  through  the  drawn  curtains.  Her  heart 
lifted,  swelled,  thrilled,  to  the  music  that  owned  an 
ecstasy  unknown  to  the  songs  of  fuller  day.  Her 
world  had  not  turned  topsy-turvy  after  all;  it  was 
only  circumstances  which  had  changed — vagrant 
circumstances  which  had  no  real  power  to  bind  or 
chill.  The  rose-red  citadel  of  her  imagination  was  left 
unbeleaguered ;  she  leaned  from  its  ramparts  and 
caught  a  faint  vision,  tempered  to  mortal  eyes  as  the 
wonder  of  stars  in  a  pool,  of  the  glory  of  God. 

"  The  angels  keep  their  ancient  places; 
Turn  but  a  stone,  and  start  a  wing!  " 

she  quoted  softly. 

Her  eyes  were  wet,  but  there  was  no  sting  in  those 


On  the  Shocking  of  Oysters        45 

tears.  They  were  tributary  to  the  beautiful  rather 
than  the  sorrowful,  and  distilled  all  essence  of  bitter- 
ness from  the  girl's  heart  through  their  crystal  dew. 

The  murmured  shamefaced  prayer  of  youth  for 
greater  tolerance  and  a  wider  understanding  of  her 
mother's  puzzling  personality  ascended  to  the  Throne 
on  the  winged  thanksgiving  of  the  larks,  and  Hildred, 
healthily  sleepy  still,  turned  from  the  glowing  eastern 
window  to  the  more  subdued  radiance  of  the  west, 
and  slept  until  Katherine  aroused  her  with  a  hard 
cold  hand  upon  her  shoulder. 

"Tea  for  the  soft  of  the  earth,  as  your  mamma 
says,  miss."  Katherine's  voice  shattered  iridescent 
dreams. 

Hildred  sat  up  in  bed,  rubbing  her  eyes  with  her 
knuckles  as  a  child  might,  and  looking  very  young 
for  her  twenty  years  with  her  fair  hair  tumbling 
about  her  shoulders. 

"  Oh,  Katherine,  is  it  time  to  get  up?  Why  did  you 
trouble  to  bring  me  tea  if  no  one  else  takes  it?" 

"What  trouble?  I  had  to  boil  the  water  for  your 
bath,  and  I  thought  you  might  like  it." 

"I  love  it,"  cried  Hildred,  clasping  her  arms  round 
her  knees.  "But  is  there  no  bath-room  here?" 

"Miss,  you're  not  in  London.  You're  in  the 
heart  of  the  country.  In  fact,  being  at  the  far  end 
of  the  village  you  might  almost  say  we  was  '  county ' ! " 
Katherine  gave  a  grim  laugh  at  her  own  humour. 
"County  we  was  once,  and  I  suppose  once  county 
always  county.  Except  them  Miss  Derings  now. 
They  went  too  near  London,  and  when  you  go  too 
near  London  you  get  to  be — what  do  you  call  the 
word,  miss?" 


46  The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

"Do  you  mean  suburban,  I  wonder?"  asked 
Hildred,  amused. 

"Yes,  that 's  the  word,  suburbian.  So  I  've  heard 
your  mamma  say,  at  least." 

"Is  she  up  yet?" 

"  What,  up?  She  had  her  cold  tub  and  some  grape- 
nuts  an  hour  ago,  and  she  's  in  the  dining-room  now 
polishing  them  golf  sticks  of  hers  as  if  her  life  depended 
on  it." 

Katherine's  voice,  in  speaking  of  Mrs.  Ivors,  always 
rang  on  the  same  note,  a  note  of  half-fierce,  half- 
grudging  affection,  or  resentful  toleration,  of  perpetual 
judgment  tempered  with  a  regretful  leniency.  It 
seemed  to  Hildred  as  if  she  reserved  all  rights  of 
criticism  to  herself,  and  would  resent  very  keenly 
any  infringement  upon  copyright  of  condemnation. 

Meanwhile  with  quick  abrupt  movements  she  had 
pulled  back  the  curtains  and  arranged  the  girl's  bath. 
With  her,  conversation  never  implied  waste  of  time, 
for  her  tongue  moved  in  concert  with  other  physical 
activities. 

"Johnny,  the  porter,  brought  me  a  string  of  trout 
this  morning.  Don't  be  long  now,  for  they  '11  be  spoilt 
if  they'  re  not  eaten  hot  off  the  pan." 

"Is  he  a  friend  of  yours,  Katherine?" 

"A  friend  of  mine?  That  loon?  I  paid  him  for 
them,  of  course." 

Katherine  stalked  indignantly  out  of  the  room, 
while  Hildred  sprang  from  her  bed  with  a  laugh  that 
echoed  through  the  open  doorway  and  penetrated 
down  the  little  stairs  as  far  as  the  dining-room. 

Mrs.  Ivors  sat  in  the  window  polishing  a  heavy 
putter  to  the  last  degree  of  brightness.  At  the  sound 


On  the  Shocking  of  Oysters        47 

of  that  ripple  of  laughter  she  let  it  fall  heedlessly. 
It  struck  Tartar,  who  lay  at  her  feet  as  usual,  and  he 
sprang  aside  with  a  quick  yelp  at  the  unexpected  hurt. 
Mrs.  Ivors  took  no  notice;  her  senses  seemed  con- 
centrated upon  the  one  effort  of  listening.  But 
silence  followed  upon  the  closing  of  the  bedroom  door, 
and  she  turned  to  her  work  with  an  odd  little  noise 
between  a  sigh  and  a  grunt. 

"Queer  sound  for  this  house,"  she  said,  and  she 
l?egan  to  whistle  a  popular  air  quite  incorrectly 
between  half -shut  teeth.  It  was  a  little  idiosyncrasy 
which  she  shared  in  common  with  many  unmusical 
persons,  that  desire,  in  moments  of  perturbation  or 
emotion,  to  hum  or  whistle  formless,  tuneless  tunes, 
until  the  very  teeth  of  the  hearers  are  set  on  edge. 

In  this  case  the  only  auditor  was  Tartar,  whose 
musical  education  had  been  presumably  neglected, 
for  the  tattered  air  was  as  a  siren's  lure  to  his  shaggy 
body,  which  crept  back  closer  and  closer  to  his  mistress 
until  he  was  near  enough  to  push  a  moist  nose  into 
her  hand  and  mutely  beg  forgiveness  for  a  fault  which 
she  had  committed. 

She  patted  his  head  as  she  looked  into  his  pleading 
eyes. 

"Good  old  fellow!  Foolish  old  boy,"  she  said  in 
her  gruffest  dog- voice.  "  Must  n't  get  in  the  way, 
you  know." 

And  Tartar  curled  up  at  her  feet  again  with  a  happy 
snort,  in  glorious  ignorance  of  the  rigid  principles  of 
his  mistress's  great  gospel  of  Give  and  Take. 

She  looked  up  later  from  her  polishing  when  Hildred 
entered,  comprehending  with  one  quick  glance  the 
daintiness  without  the  details  of  the  girl's  attire — 


48  The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

"frippery,"  as  she  mentally  phrased  it.  Yet  the 
dark  blue  alpaca  was  simplicity  itself,  having  for  sole 
adornment  delicately  stitched  lawn  collar  and  cuffs 
fastened  with  tiny  black  bows.  Hildred's  hair  was 
well  brushed  and  well  arranged,  and  shone  with  the 
soft  gloss  of  youth;  her  step  was  light  and  alert;  a 
faint  tinge  of  the  morning's  glow  lingered  in  her  cheeks. 

Mrs.  Ivors's  thick  cropped  hair  was  still  wet  from 
her  bath;  she  had  not  troubled  to  dry  it  properly,  and 
it  showed  at  the  back  the  hasty  dividing  marks  of  the 
comb.  She  wore  a  flannel  shirt  whose  collar  lacked 
a  sufficiency  of  fastening  in  the  rear,  a  deficiency 
which  she  had  striven  to  supply  with  the  aid  of  a 
crooked  black  pin. 

"Good-morning,"  said  Hildred,  entering  with  a 
bodyguard  of  dogs.  "You  look  busy." 

"I  am  busy,"  returned  Mrs.  Ivors.  "I  'm  due  for 
a  round  with  the  pro.  at  ten  o'clock  and  the  links  are 
four  miles  off." 

"Four  miles  off?"  Hildred  caught  at  the  one 
intelligible  phrase.  "  That 's  a  long  way.  How  do 
you  get  there?" 

"Bicycle.     Do  you  ride?" 

"No.     I  never  cared  to  learn  somehow." 

"H'm.  Lethargic,  I  suppose!  That  puts  your 
golfing  out  of  the  question  unless  you  care  to  walk 
to  the  links." 

A  tincture  of  relief  in  Mrs.  Ivors's  tones  pricked 
Hildred  to  quick  retort. 

"I  shouldn't  mind  the  walk  in  the  least,  but  I 
don't  think  I  'd  care  about  the  golf  when  I  got  there." 

"  With  that  feeling  to  start  on  you  'd  never  make  a 
golfer." 


On  the  Shocking  of  Oysters        49 

"I  'm  not  very  keen  on  games." 

"Golf  is  not  a  game." 

"What  is  it,  then?" 

"It 's  a  pursuit." 

"Yes,"  returned  Hildred,  "I  've  seen  it  defined  in 
a  penny  paper  as  the  pursuit  of  pale  pills  by  purple 
people." 

Mrs.  Ivors  sniffed;  her  eyes  flashed  quick  wrath  at 
the  vulgar  impertinence  of  such  a  comment  on  such 
a  subject.  The  amour  propre  of  the  enthusiast  was 
stung,  but  repartee  failed  her  for  once.  The  only 
available  retort  implied  ground-shifting. 

"I  wonder  you  read  such  trash,"  was  all  she  per- 
mitted herself  to  say. 

"Even  great  minds  such  as  mine  need  occasional 
relaxation,"  Hildred  replied,  with  a  little  tilt  of  her 
nose.  "I  didn't  realise  that  golf  was  such  a  sacred 
subject.  I  '11  keep  off  the  grass — greens  you  call 
them,  don't  you? — for  the  future." 

"I  never  knew  a  game  so  trying  to  the  temper," 
pursued  Mrs.  Ivors,  melting  at  the  other's  conces- 
sion. "When  you  get  into  a  bad  bunker  or  are 
stymied " 

"There!  it 's  a  new  language!"  cried  Hildred.  "I 
don't  understand  a  word  of  what  you  've  said,  what 
a  bunker  is,  or  a  pro.  or  a  stymie.  The  only  golf 
word  I  know  is  one  which  seems  entirely  applicable 
to  the  whole  game,  I  beg  its  pardon,  pursuit! — and 
that  is — bogey!" 

Mrs.  Ivors  gave  her  queer  little  chuckle.  "Come 
to  breakfast,  you  ignorant,  impertinent  child,  and 
don't  talk  of  what  your  infantile  mind  cannot  even 
grasp!"  Her  tone  was  one  of  high  good-humour, 


50          The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

as  she  carefully  laid  her  clubs  aside,  jumped  up,  and 
went  towards  the  table. 

In  spite  of  open  windows  the  smell  of  smoke  lin- 
gered in  the  room  mingled  with  a  suggestion  of  dogs 
and  leather,  but  above  this  distinctly  unfeminine 
atmosphere  rose  the  delicious  aroma  of  frying  trout. 

"What  a  heavenly  smell!"  cried  Hildred,  sniffing 
appreciatively.  "  I  am  developing  a  country  appetite 
already,  and  feel  inclined  to  call  down  blessings  on 
the  head  of  Johnny,  the  porter,  for  having  caught 
those  trout." 

"Did  he?  I'm  afraid  I  never  trouble  much 
about  the  commissariat.  I  leave  all  those  things  to 
Katherine." 

"She  was  quite  annoyed  with  me  when  I  asked  her 
if  Johnny  were  a  friend  of  hers.  I  thought  perhaps 
he  had  brought  the  fish  as  an  offering." 

"An  offering  to  Katherine?  No  man  living  would 
be  bold  enough  to  venture  on  such  an  act.  Her  atti- 
tude towards  men  is  that  of  the  female  spider,  who 
looks  upon  the  male  sex  as  necessary  for  one  object 
only,  and  devours  her  lovers  as  soon  as  that  is 
accomplished." 

Hildred  reddened  at  Mrs.  Ivors's  unconsidered 
speech.  With  her  cousins,  Nature,  in  what  they 
considered  her  grosser  forms,  had  been  ignored  to  the 
point  of  exclusion  from  speech  if  not  from  actual  fact. 
They  belonged  heart  and  soul  to  that  short-sighted 
generation  which  exists  in  every  age,  who,  unable  to 
see  beyond  their  noses,  and  lacking  spectacles,  declare 
that  what  is  invisible  to  their  purblind  eyes  does  not 
exist. 

Hildred's  quick  flush  was  one  of  innocence  not 


On  the  Shocking  of  Oysters        51 

prudery,  and  it  deepened  at  Mrs.  Ivors's  prompt 
comment : 

"Ha!  I  've  shocked  you.  Look,  Katherine,  I  Ve 
made  my  daughter  blush!" 

"Better  a  blush  on  the  face  than  a  spot  on  the 
heart,"  retorted  Katherine,  as  she  dashed  the  dish 
with  the  trout  on  the  table  in  front  of  Hildred,  and 
flounced  out  of  the  room. 

"No,  you  haven't  shocked  me,"  said  Hildred, 
when  she  had  gone.  "But  I  'm  not  used  to  much 
plain  speaking.  At  Wilmerhurst  things  were  always 
wrapped  up  so  that  one  was  afraid  of  appearing 
indelicate " 

"  If  you  uncovered  so  much  as  the  toe  of  the  naked 
truth,"  shot  in  Mrs.  Ivors,  jubilant.  "Yes.  I  know. 
Makes  you  sick  of  wrappings  and  coverings.  Feel 
you  must  tear  them  away,  or,  or " 

"Bust!"  suggested  Hildred  vulgarly. 

Grey  eyes  met  grey  eyes  and  laughter  twinkled  in 
them. 

"She's  not  shocked  after  all,  Katherine,"  said 
Mrs.  Ivors,  as  Katherine  marched  in  with  the  tea 
and  toast. 

"That  surprises  me,  ma'am,"  retorted  Katherine, 
"for  sometimes  the  things  you  say  is  enough  to 
shock  an  oyster!" 

"Are  oysters  easily  shocked,  Katherine?"  asked 
Hildred  mischievously.  Her  three  years'  sojourn  in 
countries  where  the  relations  between  mistress  and 
maid  lack  the  starched  formality  of  English  house- 
holds made  the  frank  intercourse  with  Katherine 
seem  natural  to  her,  and  even  homelike.  The  Misses 
Bering,  gentle,  well-bred  women,  would  have  been 


52  The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

horrified  at  ^Catherine's  unconventional  familiarity 
towards  her  mistress. 

Katherine  turned  from  the  door  at  the  girl's  ques- 
tion, her  hand  on  her  hip.  Her  smooth  hair  boasted 
no  butterfly  incongruity  this  morning,  and  in  her  neat 
print  dress  and  linen  apron  she  owned  a  working-day 
trimness,  which  was  lacking  in  Mrs.  Ivors's  attire, 
severe  though  it  purported  to  be.  As  her  gaze  met 
Hildred's  twinkle  she  deliberately  shut  her  left  eye 
in  a  desperate  attempt  at  a  wink. 

"  If  you  ever  hear  of  one  that  is,  I  '11  be  glad  to  know 
of  it,"  she  said,  and  left  with  the  honours  of  war. 

"One  to  Katherine,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Ivors,  attack- 
ing the  trout  with  gusto.  "Now  what  are  you  going 
to  do  with  yourself  to-day?" 

Hildred  felt  the  thread  of  her  days  hang  loosely  as 
yet.  Hitherto  she  had  not  known  much  freedom  of 
action;  her  hours  had  been  filled,  her  amusements 
chosen,  her  few  accomplishments  fostered  with  a 
sedulous  care  that  left  but  odd  moments  for  the 
occupation  of  the  rose-red  citadel  of  dreams.  She 
was  conscious  that  her  mother  expected  an  answer  as 
prompt  and  decisive  as  her  question  had  been,  and 
the  knowledge  spurred  her  to  uncalculated  response. 

"I  shall  first  unpack  my  boxes  and  put  away  my 
things." 

"Your  clothes?" 

"Yes,  and  my  treasures,"  said  the  girl  with  a  little 
shamefaced  laugh  at  the  implied  sentiment. 

Mrs.  Ivors's  brow  darkened,  and  a  hard  little  laugh 
followed  Hildred's  like  a  mocking  echo. 

"Your  treasures?  I  know  the  sort.  Photographs 
of  stiff  Madonnas,  dirty  little  bits  of  pottery  or  en- 


On  the  Shocking  of  Oysters        53 

amel,  rags  of  brocade  of  beautiful  colours."  She  put 
quotation  marks  in  her  voice  about  the  "beautiful 
colours,"  and  the  words  stung  with  a  disproportionate 
keenness. 

Hildred's  ready  flush  fluttered  flags  of  distress,  but 
there  was  to  be  no  hauling  down  of  her  colours. 

"You  needn't  see  them,"  she  returned  quietly. 
"  In  fact  I  'd  rather  you  did  n't." 

The  words  seemed  to  hurt  Mrs.  Ivors  oddly. 

"You  'd  rather  I  did  n't  see  your  little  rubbishes?" 
she  repeated,  with  the  same  ring  in  her  voice.  Through 
the  bitterness  was  a  vibration  of  pain,  Hildred  thought, 
and  pain  of  any  sort  touched  a  heart  that  beat  ten- 
derly under  its  mantle  of  quiet  reticence. 

"Only  if  they  irritate  you,"  she  answered  softly. 
"Besides  you  must  remember  they  are  not  trumpery 
to  me.  I  said  treasures,  remember,  and  there  are  no 
real  dust-collectors  among  them." 

Mrs.  Ivors  pounced  on  the  word  with  avidity. 
"No  dust-collectors!  I  'm  glad  of  that,  I  hate  dust. 
And  I  don't  understand  Art,  or  sympathise  much 
with  it  either." 

Evading  hinted  personalities  Hildred  tried  to  turn 
the  conversation  towards  the  general. 

"One  usually  implies  the  other,  does  n't  it?" 

"One  what?"  asked  Mrs.  Ivors  gruffly,  throwing 
the  backbone  of  a  trout  to  Tartar,  who  caught  it  and 
laid  it  at  her  feet  in  silent  disgust. 

"Sympathy  implies  understanding." 

"Oh,  don't  talk  rot,"  said  Mrs.  Ivors  rudely. 
"Bad  dog,  I  won't  give  you  anything  else.  Life  is 
too  short,  my  dear  Hildred,  for  these  abstract  discus- 
sions. Softness  and  sentiment  aren't  in  my  line, 


54  The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

and  I  believe  they  're  only  veneered  on  to  you,  too." 
She  looked  at  her  watch  and  stretched  her  legs  out 
under  the  table.  "  Time  for  a  smoke,  I  declare. 
What  luck!" 

She  pulled  a  chain  which  was  fastened  to  the  buckle 
of  her  belt,  and  by  its  means  drew  from  her  pocket  a 
silver  cigarette-case  and  match-box  combined,  a  bag, 
and  a  small  pigskin  purse. 

"Good  idea,  is  n't  it?  My  own  invention  entirely. 
I  have  all  necessaries  ready  to  hand,  from  smoke  to 
latch-key." 

She  held  it  out  for  the  girl  to  admire,  and  as  Hildred 
bent  over  it  and  praised  the  handiness  of  the  contriv- 
ance she  felt  that  her  mother's  favourite  motto,  "No 
offence  meant,"  should  be  blazoned  in  large,  compelling 
letters  at  the  head  and  foot  of  every  conversation,  so 
that  no  trick  or  device  of  apparent  rudeness  should 
cause  it  to  be  overlooked  or  indeed  forgotten. 

"This  does  n't  tell  me,  though,  what  you  're  going 
to  do  with  yourself  all  day." 

"  I  thought,  perhaps,  if  you  did  n't  mind,  of  tidying 
up  the  front  garden  a  little." 

"Mind?  I  should  be  delighted.  The  dogs  have 
made  a  perfect  wilderness  of  the  place  with  their 
scratchings  and  bone-buryings,  and  I  never  have  time 
to  see  to  any  of  these  things  myself.  Katherine  says 
that  the  kitchen-garden  gives  her  enough  to  do. 
You  might  see,  by  the  way,  if  she  's  cut  and  rolled 
the  tennis-ground.  I  told  her  to  do  it  before  you 
came,  on  the  off-chance  of  your  playing,  and  I  had  n  't 
time  to  see  about  it.  Do  you  play  tennis,  by  the  way  ? ' ' 

"Yes.     It 's  the  one  game  I  'm  really  fond  of." 

"Good.     We'll   get   up   some   next   week   if   the 


On  the  Shocking  of  Oysters        55 

weather  keeps  fine.  I  '11  send  a  line  to  the  Waveneys 
to  tell  them  to  come  over." 

' '  That  will  be  pleasant .     Who  are  the  Waveneys ?" 

"Cousins  of  mine — of  yours  too — "Mrs.  Ivors 
interpolated  awkwardly,  "who  live  at  Standish.  At 
least  Laura  Waveney  is  a  cousin  of  mine.  She  was 
one  of  the  Suffolk  Derings." 

"I  don't  know  very  much  about  any  of  my 
relations." 

"No,  Antoinette  and  Mary  didn't  keep  up  with 
their  people  when  they  left  the  country." 

"I  think  it  was  the  other  way  round,"  Hildred  put 
in.  "Their  people  seemed  to  forget  them  very 
easily  when  they  lost  their  money  and  came  down 
in  the  world." 

"  Oh,  nonsense.  Nothing  of  the  sort.  The  Suffolk 
Derings — but  that 's  neither  here  nor  there.  Laura 
married  Sir  John  Waveney  some  years  ago  and  they 
live  at  Standish  Court,  about  eight  miles  away. 
Standish  is  the  next  station  to  this." 

A  sudden  suspicion  crept  to  Hildred's  mind.  "  What 
sort  of  looking  people  are  they?" 

"She's  a  nice,  fresh-looking  girl — well,  perhaps 
hardly  a  girl  now.  Nothing  particularly  striking 
about  her  in  any  way.  And  he?  Oh,  he  's  just  the 
usual  country  squire,  quite  a  fine-looking  man.  I  'm 
not  much  good  at  description." 

No,  she  was  certainly  not.  Still,  the  colourless 
sentences  conveyed  an  impression  of  the  people  who 
had  travelled  in  Hildred's  carriage  yesterday;  an 
impression  which  the  memory  of  their  conversation 
strengthened.  She  held  her  peace,  yet  a  hot  wave  of 
indignation  surged  over  her.  How  had  they  dared  to 


56          The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

discuss  her  mother  in  such  a  way  in  a  public  railway- 
carriage?  It  was  monstrous !  Intolerable! 

Mrs.  Ivors  suddenly  jumped  up  and  flung  away 
the  end  of  her  cigarette. 

"  I  quite  forgot  that  I  '11  probably  have  to  pump 
up  my  bicycle.  That  is  unless  Katherine  has  done 
it  already." 

"Let  me  do  it." 

"You?    You  'd  soil  those  dainty  cuffs  of  yours." 

"I  've  got  straw  gardening-cuffs  upstairs." 

"Straw  gardening-cuffs!  What  next,  I  wonder?" 
Mrs.  Ivors  chuckled  contempt.  "Here,  out  of  my 
way,  child.  I  '11  have  it  done  while  you  're  looking 
at  it,  and  wondering  where  the  valve  is." 

As  she  spoke  she  had  the  pump  already  fitted  to 
the  wheel  and  was  working  vigorously,  pinching  the 
tire  at  intervals  to  see  if  it  were  hard  enough,  while 
Hildred  stood  looking  on,  feeling  helplessly  ignorant. 

"There!  I  think  that  will  do,"  she  said  at  last, 
lifting  a  flushed  face.  "Where  's  my  hat?  I  think 
I  left  it  on  the  sideboard  last  night.  No,  it 's  not 
there  now.  Katherine !  Katherine !  Where  did  you 
put  my  hat?" 

"On  the  hat-rack,  of  course.  Where  else?" 
asked  Katherine,  emerging  from  the  kitchen  for  a 
moment  with  wet  steaming  hands.  "There  it  is, 
under  your  nose — and  as  plain  as  it  is,"  she  added 
under  her  breath.  "I  suppose  you  expect  me  to  be 
a  lady's-maid  as  well  as  everything  else." 

"Jack  of  all  trades  and  master  of  none,"  said  Mrs. 
Ivors,  slinging  her  heavy  bag  of  clubs  across  her 
shoulder,  and  wheeling  her  bicycle  through  the 
doorway. 


On  the  Shocking  of  Oysters        57 

The  words,  as  Hildred  remembered  to  whom  she 
had  last  heard  them  applied,  added  another  prickle 
to  the  nettle-sting  of  her  resentment  against  the 
Waveneys. 

Mrs.  Ivors  opened  the  gate  and  went  out  without 
looking  back,  Tartar,  as  usual,  close  at  her  heels. 
The  other  dogs  lay  in  various  attitudes  about  the 
door-step,  watching  Hildred's  movements  with 
assumed  indifference. 

When,  after  a  moment's  breathing  of  the  sweet 
spring  air,  she  left  them  and  went  indoors,  they  turned 
languidly,  buried  nose  in  paw  or  stretched  out  head 
on  gravel  as  was  their  wont,  and  went  to  sleep,  with 
a  sigh  and  a  pretence  that  that  was  what  they  had 
desired  all  along. 


CHAPTER  V 
"SUMLESS  TREASURES" 

IT  did  not  take  long  for  Hildred  to  unpack  and 
arrange  her  possessions,  which  imparted  to  the 
pink  and  white  room  a  note  of  character  hitherto 
lacking.  Her  treasures,  as  she  had  girlishly  called 
them,  were  few  and  only  valuable  in  so  far  as  they 
recalled  the  masterpieces  of  which  they  were  but 
inadequate  reproductions.  Wistful  Delia  Robbia 
babies  framed  in  painted  vellum,  Botticelli's  Coro- 
nation of  the  Madonna  within  a  carven  circle  of 
gilded  wood,  a  tiny  bronze  of  the  Dancing  Faun  of 
Pompeii,  cream  plaster  models  of  the  Venus  of  Milo 
and  the  Victory  of  Samothrace,  an  iridescent  morsel 
of  glass,  blown  like  a  foam  bubble  by  Venetian  lips 
into  the  clasp  of  a  gold-flecked  sea-horse,  a  Sistine 
Madonna  in  a  brown  Florentine  frame,  and  a  small 
shelfful  of  books.  These,  with  a  casket  of  beautiful 
Berlin  leather-work,  were  the  treasures  which  Mrs. 
Ivors  had  so  bitterly  derided,  unseen. 

Hildred  kissed  the  Victory  shamefacedly  before  she 
put  it  on  its  shelf. 

"Lend  me  your  wings  sometimes,  won't  you?" 
she  murmured.  "I  shall  often  envy  them,  you  free, 
beautiful  creature!" 

58 


"  Sumless  Treasures  "  59 

After  a  while  she  went  downstairs,  armed,  cap-d-pie, 
with  straw  cuffs  and  gardening-gloves. 

Katherine  emerged  from  the  kitchen  when  she 
heard  the  step. 

"You  look  very  grand  in  yourself,"  she  exclaimed. 
"Where  are  you  going  in  them  gloves?" 

Hildred  explained,  ending  with:  "I  am  very  fond 
of  gardening." 

"Gardening?  What  gardening?  'T is  rough  boy's 
work,  that  is,  not  the  little  planting  or  weeding  that 
them  hands  of  yours  is  used  to.  Picking  off  dead 
blossoms  maybe,  or  a  bit  of  quiet  lawn-mowing  on  a 
little  plot  where  a  daisy  dare  n't  show  its  head !  I 
know  the  sort  of  gardening." 

"Perhaps  I  'm  not  so  helpless  as  you  think." 

"Bless  you,  miss,  I  don't  think  you're  helpless. 
'T  is  too  independent  maybe  you  are  after  all  your 
foreign  travel.  But  it 's  easily  seen  you  're  not  used 
to  this  sort  of  life,  and  all  I  want  is  for  you  to  take  it 
in  bits  at  a  time,  and  not  try  to  swallow  it  whole.  If 
you  can  wait  till  after  lunch  I  '11  help  you.  I  can 
dig  as  good  as  a  man."  She  stopped,  recollected 
herself,  and  continued:  "What  man?  I  'd  beat  the 
best  of  'em,  I  'd  bet,  but  the  most  we  can  do  is  a  little 
tidying.  Them  dogs  would  make  any  place  into  a 
bear-garden." 

Hildred's  face  fell  at  the  postponement  of  her  plans. 
She  wanted  to  be  out;  she  felt  the  need  for  action, 
for  occupation.  She  was  unprepared  as  yet  for  the 
filling  of  empty  hours. 

"There  are  clumps  of  fern  half -choked  by  rank 
grass,"  she  demurred.  "I  could  free  them  at  least, 
and  I  'm  sure  I  should  find  other  treasures." 


60  The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

"Find  away,  then,"  returned  Katherine,  "but 
don't  attempt  any  of  the  rough  work  till  I  'm  ready 
to  go.  Perhaps  when  you  've  picked  enough  blades 
of  grass  to  satisfy  yourself  you  might  find  a  letter  to 
write,  or  something  of  that  sort  to  keep  you  quiet. 
Can  you  eat  a  poached  egg  for  your  lunch?" 

"I  can  but  try,"  answered  Hildred  with  a  twinkle. 
"But  won't ?" 

"No,  she  won't.  I  put  up  some  sandwiches  for 
her,  and  her  flask,  and  she  11  spend  the  day  on  the 
links.  Links?  It  's  a  silly  sort  of  name  for  just 
fields.  But  all  them  names  what  has  to  do  with 
games  is  silly.  Love  and  deuce  in  tennis,  and  peel 
and  break  in  croquet!  How  sensible  people !" 

She  shook  her  head,  silenced  by  the  colossal  folly 
of  the  games-playing  humankind,  and  went  back  to 
her  work. 

It  was  a  tired  and  rather  stiff  Hildred  who  stood 
in  the  doorway  in  her  grey  gown  to  greet  her  mother 
that  evening;  but  the  girl's  eyes  were  brightened,  and 
her  colour  deepened  by  her  wholesome  day  in  the 
open  air,  and  she  waited  with  a  sense  of  expectancy 
for  some  comment  upon  her  labours. 

Truly  the  improvement  was  marvellous.  The 
grass,  though  still  coarse  and  worn  here  and  there 
into  bare  patches  by  the  dogs,  was  cut  close,  the 
edges  trimmed,  the  walks  scuffled  and  raked  into 
neatness.  Hildred  and  Katherine  had  cleared  the 
clogging  undergrowth  from  the  flowering  bushes,  and 
raked  basketfuls  of  leaves  and  twigs  and  rubbish  from 
the  grass.  Clumps  of  ferns  raised  inquiring  fronds 
here  and  there  above  this  newer,  freer  world,  and 
under  the  delicate  green  of  a  beech-tree  shed  bud- 


"  Sumless  Treasures  "  61 

sheaths  made  patches  of  rusty  gold.  Closed  blue- 
bells pushed  slender  stems  above  their  curving  leaves, 
and  in  one  corner  a  whitened  stump  and  spray  of 
sawdust  showed  where  they  had  cut  down  a  half -dead 
bay  which  hid  an  exquisite  young  almond-tree,  rosy 
as  a  bride  against  its  filmy  background  of  green. 

Mrs.  Ivors,  flushed  and  excited,  wheeled  her  bicycle 
up  the  path,  commentless. 

"  I  am  hot,"  she  said,  resting  her  bicycle  against  the 
wall.  "Hot  and  tired,  but  I  had  a  glorious  day, 
nevertheless."  She  took  off  her  hat;  flung  it  towards 
the  hall-table,  which  it  missed,  falling  upon  the  tiled 
floor  with  a  little  chatter.  She  mopped  her  forehead 
with  her  handkerchief. 

"I  shall  feel  better  when  I  have  had  a  drink.  I 
suppose  your  expensive  education  hasn't  taught  you 
how  to  mix  a  whiskey  and  soda,  has  it?"  she  contin- 
ued, pushing  past  Hildred  and  sinking  into  her  chair. 
"Little  whiskey,  big  soda — just  a  long  drink  in  that 
big  tumbler  there  on  the  sideboard.  Yes,  that  '11  do. 
Not  so  much  whiskey.  Pour  some  back.  Now  fill 
it  up  with  soda.  Ah!  that 's  good." 

She  drank  the  mixture  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  and 
proceeded  in  terms  which  were  practically  unintelligible 
to  Hildred,  to  expound  upon  her  glorious  day.  It 
had  had  its  ups  and  downs,  it  appeared.  She  had 
bungled  an  absurdly  easy  putt  at  the  fourth  hole, 
increasing  her  score  by  an  unnecessary  two,  but  then 
at  the  ninth  she  had  made  a  marvellous  drive,  doing 
the  hole  in  three — one  less  than  Bogey. 

"One  less  than  Bogey!  Just  imagine  that!"  she 
cried,  sitting  upright  in  her  triumph. 

"It   sounds  very   wonderful,"    Hildred  answered, 


62  The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

trying  to  assume  an  unfelt  interest.  She  felt  flat 
and  dispirited  at  the  greetingless,  commentless  return 
after  her  day  of  unwonted  hard  work. 

"Of  course  it's  Greek  to  you,"  continued  Mrs. 
Ivors  good  humouredly.  "But  I  wish  you'd  seen 
that  drive.  The  pro.  said  that  I  was  the  first  of  his 
pupils  (women,  of  course)  who  had  ever  driven  so  far. 
It  was  such  a  clean  true  shot.  The  ball  soared,  but 
not  too  high.  It  was  like  the  flight  of  a  bird.  I  felt 
I  was  going  to  do  it  somehow.  You  always  know." 

"Afterwards,  I  suppose,"  commented  Hildred 
drily. 

The  clock  on  the  chimney-piece  chimed  the  half- 
hour. 

"Heavens!  it's  dinner-time,"  cried  Mrs.  Ivors, 
"  I  must  go  and  wash  my  hands.  I  won't  change." 

She  glanced  at  Hildred  as  she  spoke.  The  girl 
looked  away,  but  it  seemed  to  her  mother  as  if  the 
averted  gaze  pointed  a  contrast  between  her  own 
fresh  daintiness  and  the  dusty  disarray  of  Mrs.  Ivors's 
flannel  shirt.  As  a  matter  of  fact  it  was  to  prevent 
such  an  inference  that  Hildred  had  refrained  from 
even  a  cursory  glance  at  her  mother's  attire;  but  the 
comparison  was  inevitable  if  unsought,  and  pricked 
Mrs.  Ivors  to  unconsidered  speech. 

"It's  my  own  house,  anyhow,"  she  said  with  a 
deliberate  gruffness,  "and  it  doesn't  matter  to  any 
one  what  I  choose  to  come  to  dinner  in,  even  if  it 's 
my  combinations!" 

Hildred's  heart  swelled,  but  her  spirit  rose.  The 
only  way  to  live  amicably  with  Mrs.  Ivors  was  to 
meet  frankness  with  frankness. 

"The  weather  is  scarcely  hot  enough  for  the  latter 


"  Sumless  Treasures  "  63 

costume,"  she  retorted  coolly,  but  something  bright 
fell  on  Nip's  wrinkled  forehead  as  she  stooped  to  pat 
him  and  pull  his  ears. 


"Some  people  are  as  blind  as  bats!" 

Katherine's  remark  was  apparently  addressed  to  the 
soup'  tureen  as  she  set  it  down  before  her  mistress. 

"Why?  What  is  it  that  I  haven't  seen,  now?" 
asked  Mrs.  Ivors,  restored  to  good-humour  by  the 
little  passage-at-arms,  and  the  assertion  of  her  own 
independence. 

"You  never  even  cast  a  glance  at  the  grand  things 
young  miss  and  I  did  when  you  were  out  and  away 
amusing  yourself." 

"What  did  you  do?    Rolled  the  tennis-ground?" 

"What  rolled?  Wait  till  after  dinner,  if  it 's  light 
enough,  and  until  to-morrow  if  it  is  n't,  and  cast  your 
eye  at  the  front  that  you  walked  through  to-night  as 
if  it  was  the  bear-garden  you  'd  left  it  in  the  morning." 

"My  dear  Katherine,  I  did  n't  leave  it  any  more  a 
bear-garden  this  morning  than  any  other  morning. 
Still,  I  'm  glad  to  hear  you  Ve  tidied  it  up  a  bit.  A 
place  always  looks  better  for  being  tidy,  and  when  the 
Waveneys  come  next  week " 

"  Are  they  coming?  "  Katherine's  tone  was  instinct 
with  disapproval. 

"Only  to  tea,"  Mrs.  Ivors  hastened  to  add.  "I 
met  them  on  the  links  to-day,  and  they  said  they 
would  be  delighted  to  come  over  for  tennis  on 
Wednesday.  You  '11  have  to  make  some  of  your 
cream-cakes,  Katherine.  Sir  John  loves  your  cream - 
cakes." 


64  The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

"Yes,  and  makes  no  more  of  a  plateful  than  if  it 
was  a  mouthful,"  snapped  Katherine.  "But  it's 
that  Laura  I  can't  abide;  no,  nor  ever  could." 

"Why,  what  harm  has  she  ever  done  you,  you  old 
mass  of  prejudice?" 

"Peered  and  pried,  no  more  nor  no  less,"  returned 
Katherine,  "and  well  you  know  it." 

This  disrespectful  mention  of  Lady  Waveney 
amused  Hildred,  whose  sense  of  humour  was  young 
and  alert ;  her  own  feelings  towards  that  lady  were  not 
altogether  tinged  with  sympathy,  so  her  mood  fell  in 
with  Katherine's  disparagement. 

"How  did  Lady  Waveney  come  to  offend  Kather- 
ine?" she  asked  when  they  were  alone. 

"Silly  old  creature!"  Mrs.  Ivors  laughed  tolerantly. 
"It  was  long  ago,  before  Laura  was  married,  when 
I  lived  in  Suffolk.  I  believe  she  tried  to  pump 
Katherine  about  me  and  my  affairs — girl's  curiosity, 
nothing  more — but  Katherine  resented  it,  and  has 
never  either  forgiven  or  forgotten  it.  She  's  a  good 
hater,  is  Katherine." 

"And  a  good  lover,  too,  I  should  think." 

"Apart  from  love  in  the  sentimental  sense,  I  should 
say  yes." 

"You  should,"  returned  Hildred  calmly.  "What 
would  you  do  without  her,  I  wonder?" 

"Without  Katherine?"  Mrs.  Ivors  looked  posi- 
tively startled  for  an  instant.  "I'd  be  perfectly 
lost.  But  there  's  no  fear  of  her  leaving  me,  thank 
Heaven!" 

"I  don't  suppose  there  is." 

"It  's  not  playing  the  game  to  alarm  me  like  this 
without  a  cause.  It 's  so  like — "  Mrs.  Ivors 


"  Sumless  Treasures  "  65 

stopped  abruptly.  "I've  made  an  engagement  for 
you  for  to-morrow,"  she  continued,  after  a  pause. 

"Yes?" 

"  Tea  with  the  Miss  Lebartes." 

"Who  are  the  Miss  Lebartes?" 

"An  aunt  and  niece  who  live  in  the  village.  The 
aunt  was  a  sister  of  our  late  vicar,  and  used  to  keep 
house  for  him,  and  she  thinks  her  mission  in  life  is  to 
keep  an  eye  on  parochial  matters  in  general,  and  in 
particular  to  put  down,  with  a  high  hand,  anything 
that  savours  of  ritualism.  She  looks  on  any  innova- 
tion of  the  new  vicar's  in  that  light." 

"  Pleasant  for  the  new  vicar." 

"He  's  not  so  very  new.  He  's  got  used  to  it  now 
after  three  years  of  it.  Personally,  I  can't  see  what 
it  matters  whether  a  man  turns  to  the  east  or  to  the 
west,  or  wears  blue  vestments  or  green,  so  long  as  he  's 
an  honest,  straightforward  fellow,  and  lives  up  to  his 
prayers  as  best  he  can.  But  a  difference  of  opinion 
in  the  Church  seems  to  upset  the  religious  digestion 
of  a  good  many  so-called  Christians.  To  my  mind  it 
would  be  more  really  religious  if  they  attended  to  the 
prayers  they  were  supposed  to  be  saying  instead  of 
peeping  through  their  fingers  to  see  whether  the 
parson  was  turning  to  the  right  or  to  the  left.  More 
pretence!  More  frippery!  Bah!  I  Ve  no  patience 
with  it." 

Hildred's  religious  beliefs,  like  her  innate  worship 
of  the  beautiful,  were  hidden  away  within  the  ivory 
shrine  of  her  inmost  heart,  and  any  alien  touch  upon 
them  jarred.  She  saw  the  sound  common-sense  of 
what  her  mother  was  saying,  but  she  was  too  young, 
too  much  enwrapped  in  her  veil  of  reticence  and 

5 


66  The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

sensitiveness  to  suffer  any  intrusion  upon  so  intimately 
personal  and  sacred  an  emotion.  She  glanced  to  a 
side-issue. 

"  What  sort  of  person  is  the  younger  Miss  Lebarte?  " 

"Oh,  Arabella — Arab,  every  one  calls  her — is  a 
bright,  capable  sort  of  girl." 

"A  girl?"  Hildred's  eyes  brightened,  foreseeing 
possible  companionship. 

"Well,  scarcely  what  you  would  call  a  girl,  I  sup- 
pose. Arab  must  be  anything  from  thirty  to  thirty- 
five.  She  's  great  at  competitions." 

"Golf  competitions?" 

"No,  no,  nothing  of  the  sort.  Competitions  in 
newspapers,  magazines,  that  sort  of  thing.  She'  s  no 
use  at  games.  She  has  a  good  serve  at  tennis,  that  's 
all,  but  plays  a  footling  game  of  croquet.  Golf,  of 
course,  she  can't  touch." 

It  was  easy  for  Hildred  to  perceive  that  at  the 
moment  golf  reigned  king,  no,  emperor,  over  any  and 
every  other  form  of  game,  amusement,  pursuit — what 
you  will. 

"She  and  I  ought  to  get  on  in  that  case.  I  have  a 
tolerable  service  and  loathe  croquet." 

"My  form  is  volleying,"  said  Mrs.  Ivors  compla- 
cently. "You  might  ask  them  both  to  come  here 
on  Wednesday  if  you  remember  it." 

"Why?  Aren't  you  coming  to  the  tea-party 
to-morrow?" 

"Me?  Go  to  a  hen  bun-worry  if  I  can  possibly 
avoid  it?  No,  thanks.  I  'm  going  to  play  in  a  four- 
some with  the  Waveneys  and  Dr.  Lisle." 

Hildred's  heart  sank.  The  idea  of  an  afternoon 
spent  with  the  lady  of  eagle  eye  for  clerical  mis- 


"  Sumless  Treasures  "  67 

demeanours  and  the  damsel  of  competition-winning 
proclivities  appealed  to  her  less  than  a  day  of  the 
garden  and  a  semi-solitude  tempered  by  Katherine. 

"They  asked  us  both,  of  course,"  continued  Mrs. 
Ivors,  sitting  on  the  ledge  of  the  open  window,  and 
pulling  out  her  cigarette-case.  "But,  fortunately,  I 
had  already  made  the  other  engagement.  It 's  not 
often  Dr.  Lisle  is  able  to  get  away.  We  ought  to  have 
a  good  match.  There  's  a  box  of  balls  on  it,  best 
Spaldings.  Not  to  be  sneezed  at,  I  can  tell  you,  in 
these  days  of  high  prices."  She  lit  a  cigarette  and 
puffed  at  it.  Her  outline  looked  slim  and  spare, 
silhouetted  against  the  blue  dusk  of  the  night.  She 
drummed  her  heels  against  the  panelling  as  a  boy 
might,  perched  there  upon  the  sill.  No  one  coming 
into  the  unlit  room  would  have  taken  her  to  be  the 
mother  of  the  girl  who  sat  near  her  with  clasped  hands 
lying  in  her  lap — a  grey  shadow  among  the  deeper 
shadows  of  the  spring  night. 

"  It 's  a  pity  Arab  does  n't  play  golf.  It  might 
improve  her  chances." 

"What  chances?" 

"Arab,  like  her  namesakes,"  continued  Mrs.  Ivors, 
with  apparent  irrelevance,  "is  always  looking  across 
a  sandy  desert.  On  the  horizon  is  the  figure  of  a  man 
—Dr.  Lisle — but  he  comes  no  nearer.  He  is  always 
a  silhouette  upon  the  fringe  of  the  desert.  Do  you 
understand?" 

The  dry  words  called  up  an  instant  vision  of  the 
East  before  the  girl's  eyes.  An  unconsidered  query 
rose  to  her  lips  and  broke  from  them  impulsively. 
"Have  you  been  in  Egypt?" 

"Yes."     The  curt  monosyllable  fell  cold  as  a  stone 


68  The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

with  a  chill  finality  which  checked  the  spring  of 
further  question  or  comment. 

Hildred   shrank  back   a  little,   reddening  in   the 
darkness.     Unawares  she  had  touched  a  wound. 


CHAPTER  VI 

BEGINNINGS  AND  ENDINGS 

ISS  ARABELLA  LEBARTE'S  mStier  had  been 
1  V  1  determined  almost  at  the  outset  of  her  com- 
petitional  career  by  her  winning  of  the  prize  of  a  dozen 
pairs  of  gloves  for  the  best  definition  of  an  old  bachelor. 
With  smart  flippancy  she  described  that  anomaly  of 
humanity  as  "the  crooked  stick  that  is  left  in  the 
wood."  Since  then  she  had  never  looked  back.  If 
success  had  not  always  crowned  her,  if  her  best  efforts 
had  not  won  her  either  a  house  in  the  country  or  a 
pound  a  week  for  life,  still  her  epigram  on  the  New 
Woman — "  A  fresh  darn  on  the  original  blue-stocking" 
— appropriately  provided  her  with  a  shoe  outfit,  and 
her  selection  of  Easter  Egg  as  the  best  name  for  a 
race-horse  (pedigree  given),  with  a  new  Spring  hat, 
while  odd  sums  for  successful  limericks,  and  an  occa- 
sional guinea  for  the  correct  results  of  Literary 
Guessing  Competitions  pleasantly  supplemented  her 
pocket-money. 

An  accurate  list  of  words  ending  in  "ism"  in  answer 
to  rather  misleading  questions  had  just  secured  her  a 
fountain-pen,  which  she  was  utilising  in  filling  in  a 
similar  series  with  answers  ending  in  "ic"  when 
Hildred  was  ushered  into  the  cool  little  drawing-room 
of  Miss  Lebarte's  house. 

69 


70  The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

The  neat  precision  and  orderly  trimness  of  the 
place,  from  garden  gate  to  inner  sanctum,  was  grateful 
to  the  girl  after  the  untidiness  of  the  Whitecot  sitting- 
room.  Into  its  drawing-room,  a  place  of  drawn 
blinds  and  stiff  new-smelling  furniture,  unfriendly  of 
aspect,  with  unused,  almost  menacing  air,  she  had 
peeped  this  morning,  shutting  the  door  hastily  upon 
its  aloof  ugliness.  That  Katherine  waged  constant 
war  upon  slovenliness  she  well  knew,  but  even  she  had 
long  ceased  to  try  to  conquer  the  atmosphere  of  dogs, 
cigarette-ash,  and  general  disarray  which  was  as  the 
breath  of  heaven  to  Mrs.  Ivors's  nostrils. 

"Nothing  pretty  here,  thank  God!"  she  used  often 
to  say,  looking  round  complacently  as  she  put  her 
feet  on  the  chimney-ledge. 

There  was  a  sufficiency  of  prettiness — perhaps  a 
superabundance  of  it — in  the  drawing-room  at 
Hillside,  which  was  the  name  of  Miss  Lebarte's  house, 
so-called,  with  the  usual  sweet  reasonableness  to  be 
observed  in  house-nomenclature,  because  it  stood 
farther  away  from  the  hills  than  any  other  house  in 
the  village. 

The  bureau  at  which  Arabella  sat  was  over-elabor- 
ately  ornamented;  each  chair  had  its  blatantly 
spotless  frilly  head-rest,  and  there  were  plants  enough, 
in  art  pots,  to  have  stocked  a  small-sized  green-house. 
Still  the  effect  was  of  dainty  freshness,  even  if  one 
had  to  be  careful  in  threading  one's  way  through 
the  innumerable  crowd  of  little  tables,  chairs,  and 
ottomans. 

Arabella  jumped  up  as  Hildred  entered.  She  was 
tall  and  well-proportioned,  dark  of  hair  and  bright  of 
eye.  As  she  held  Hildred's  hand  and  murmured 


Beginnings  and  Endings  71 

words  of  conventional  greeting,  it  seemed  to  the  girl 
that  to  judge  from  the  quickness  of  her  darting  glances 
her  mind  must  be  sharp  and  polished  as  a  needle. 
Her  conversation,  however,  but  seldom  indicated 
this;  Arabella  Lebarte  was  wittier  with  her  pen  than 
with  her  tongue.  She  could  write  an  epigram  where 
speech  would  falter  into  muteness. 

"Sit  here  in  this  chair  near  the  window,"  she  said, 
"  that  is,  if  you  're  not  afraid  of  draughts.  You  must 
be  tired  after  your  walk  from  Whitecot.  The  weather 
has  turned  surprisingly  warm." 

"I  did  not  mind  the  walk  in  the  least,  thanks," 
Hildred  answered,  sitting  down  in  the  indicated  chair. 
"I  am  rather  fond  of  walking  and  it 's  only  about 
a  mile  here,  if  as  much." 

"Your  mother  always  says  it  is  such  a  distance, 
but  then  people  who  are  used  to  cycling  think  a  half- 
mile  walk  a  nuisance.  Yet  she  thinks  nothing  of 
tramping  miles  over  the  links.  Are  n't  we  strange 
anomalies?" 

"We  are,"  agreed  Hildred.  "The  older  one  grows 
the  more  one  realises  the  queerness  of  human  beings." 

"The  queerness  of  ourselves,  I  think,"  said  Arab, 
shrewdly.  "But  you're  not  old  enough  to  have 
found  that  out.  We  girls  take  a  long  time  before  we 
make  that  discovery." 

"I  don't  know,"  Hildred  pondered  in  an  odd  little 
grave  way  characteristic  of  her.  "I  think  the  more 
we  see  of  life  the  more  we  realise  how  ordinary  we 
are.  We  begin  by  thinking  that  we  are  abnormal 
beings,  unusually  subtle  and  difficult  to  understand, 
but  as  we  gain  experience  we  discover  that  we  are 
very  ordinary  and  no  more  brilliant  or  interesting  than 


72          The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

anybody  else.  Not  half  so  much  so,  probably,  but 
I  don't  think  I  Ve  quite  reached  that  stage  yet." 

Arab  darted  one  of  her  needle-like  glances  at  the 
girl. 

"Now  that 's  just  the  sort  of  thing  Dr.  Lisle  would 
say.  Have  you  met  Dr.  Lisle?" 

"Not  yet.     I  Ve  only  been  here  two  days." 

"Where  have  you  been  all  the  rest  of  the  time?" 

"Abroad,  finishing  my  education,"  replied  Hildred 
curtly.  She  shrank  from  being  questioned,  uncon- 
scious of  how  much  or  how  little  these  people  knew 
of  the  real  circumstances  of  her  life. 

"Yes.  I  remember  Mrs.  Ivors  said  yesterday  that 
you  had  gone  to  Germany  the  year  she  came  to  live 
here.  What  did  you  think  of  the  Germans?  Fat, 
beery,  greedy,  creatures,  are  n't  they?" 

Hildred  smiled,  relieved  at  the  change  of  topic. 
"Not  all  of  them.  And  you've  asked  me  a  very 
large  question.  I  went  to  Germany  rather  full  of 
prejudices,  but  I  found  that  I  had  to  leave  most  of 
them  behind  me." 

"  Had  you  really?  And  the  Italians  now?  Are  n't 
they  greasy,  treacherous  creatures,  and  don't  they 
fry  all  their  food  in  oil?" 

Hildred  laughed  outright.  "They  certainly  fry 
things  in  oil,  but •" 

"How  horrid!  I  should  hate  to  have  everything 
taste  oily!" 

"But  it  does  n't " 

"Oh,  it  must,"  said  Arab,  with  the  calm  superiority 
of  the  untra veiled.  "  Things  fried  in  oil  must  taste 
of  oil." 

"What  about  the  French?"  Hildred  inquired. 


Beginnings  and  Endings  73 

"Horrid  finicky  little  manikins!  I  don't  know 
anything  about  them." 

"It 's  good  of  you  to  admit  it,"  said  Hildred  drily. 
"  Have  you  ever  been  abroad? " 

"Never,  except  once,  a  day-trip  from  Folkestone  to 
Boulogne.  I  never  want  to  go  again." 

"Why?"  queried  Hildred  softly. 

"  I  did  n't  enjoy  it  a  bit.  I  could  n't  make  out  one 
word  the  people  said,  and  they  could  n't  understand 
my  French.  No,  England  is  good  enough  for  me." 

'  That  is  a  typically  English  point  of  view,"  said 
Hildred,  feeling  almost  overwhelmingly  cosmopolitan. 
"You  and  my  mother  should  have  much  in  common." 

"Yes,  we  agree  thoroughly  on  that  point,"  returned 
Arab,  with  an  emphasis  which  inferred  non-agreement 
on  other  subjects.  "By  the  way,  in  the  interest  of 
our  conversation — and  you  can't  imagine  how  nice 
it  is  for  me  to  have  another  girl  to  talk  to — I  forgot 
to  make  my  aunt's  apologies  to  you.  She  was  obliged 
to  go  to  the  vicarage  on  business,  something  about 
the  design  of  the  new  church  book-markers.  She 
hoped  to  be  back  quite  soon,  but  has  probably  been 
delayed." 

Hildred 's  quick  imagination  pictured  the  scene: 
the  harrying  of  the  vicar  over  the  too  ritualistic 
tendency  in  the  design  of  the  book-markers,  the 
protest  and  explanation  thereof  leading  to  further 
argument,  in  the  heat  of  which  Miss  Lebarte,  senior, 
had  probably  forgotten  all  about  her  expected  guest. 

"I  hope  your  aunt  will  not  hurry  back  on  my 
account,"  she  said  politely,  "that  is,  unless  I  am 
taking  up  too  much  of  your  time.  My  mother  tells 
me  you  are  very  clever." 


74          The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

Arab  blushed  with  pleasure.  "Oh,  that's  only 
Mrs.  Ivors's  joke.  Sometimes  she  has  rather  a  sar- 
donic sense  of  humour.  Sardonic —  '  She  paused 
on  the  word.  "  Excuse  me  for  a  moment.  Sardonic. 
I  must  see  if  that  fits  anywhere  in  my  list." 

She  darted  across  the  room  to  the  bureau,  avoiding 
the  tables  and  chairs  with  the  skill  of  long  practice, 
and  eagerly  scanned  the  list  of  questions,  the  answer 
to  each  of  which  should  be  a  word  ending  in  "ic." 
She  came  back  to  her  seat  near  Hildred,  slip  in  hand, 
shaking  her  head  at  the  momentary  disappointment. 

"I  am  sure  you  could  help  me,"  she  said.  "You 
must  know  more  words  ending  in  'ic'  than  I  do." 

"I  'm  convinced  I  don't,"  cried  Hildred.  "I  can't 
think  of  a  single  one  this  minute  except  stick,  and 
you  don't  want  a  'k,'  do  you?" 

Arab's  dark  brows  almost  met  in  a  frown  of 
concentration. 

"No,  we  must  n't  have  a  'k.'  Now  what  can  this 
possibly  be — 'Circular  yet  devastating'?"  She  re- 
peated the  words  slowly,  as  if  to  lure  the  answer  from 
the  phrase.  "Circular  yet  devastating!  A  saw  is 
all  I  can  think  of,  which  is  absurd,  and  that  'yet' 
puzzles  me." 

"It 's  probably  meant  to,"  said  Hildred,  gazing  at 
a  pot  of  lily-of -the- valley  which  stood  on  a  table  near 
her  from  which  every  waft  passing  through  the  open 
window  brought  gusts  of  bewildering  fragrance.  She 
stooped  closer  to  breathe  in  its  sweetness.  "It 's  an 
intoxicatingly  beautiful  scent,"  she  said.  "Perhaps 
it  will  inspire  me." 

She  leaned  back  in  the  chair  and  closed  her  eyes. 
"Circular  yet  devastating — faint  yet  pursuing,"  she 


Beginnings  and  Endings  75 

murmured.  "Ah,  I  have  it!  Would  cyclonic 
do?" 

"Cyclonic?"  With  a  colourable  imitation  of  the 
adjective  Arab  fled  for  the  dictionary,  returning  with 
triumphant  mien.  "Cyclone,  a  circular  or  rotatory 
storm.  Cyclonic,  that  must  be  it.  Miss  Ivors,  I 
am  awfully  obliged.  I  can't  tell  you  how  grateful 
I  am."  Her  whole  air  sparkled  with  delight. 

"What  is  the  prize?" 

"A  hair-comb  from  the  Parisian  Diamond  Com- 
pany. Won't  it  be  lovely  for  evening  wear  if  I  get  it?" 

"Indeed it  will,"  cried  Hildred,  fired  with  the  con- 
tagion of  the  other's  enthusiasm.  "Let  me  see  the 
list.  How  many  words  have  you  got?  Perhaps  I 
could  help  a  little  more.  It 's  quite  exciting." 

"  Are  you  sure  you  would  n't  like  to  enter  yourself?  " 
asked  Arab,  drawing  back  a  little. 

"Absolutely  certain.  I  never  won  anything  in  my 
life  except  the  Booby  prize  at  a  golf -croquet  tourna- 
ment at  ho — at  Wilmerhurst  once." 

Swift  as  the  correction  of  the  slip  had  been,  Arab 
noticed  it,  but  it  caused  no  wonder  in  her  mind,  for 
she  concluded  that  Wilmerhurst  was  where  Mrs.  Ivors 
had  lived  before  she  came  to  Burnaby.  She  cherished 
a  friendly  enmity  for  Hildred's  mother,  a  feeling  often 
to  be  observed  among  the  limited  members  of  a  small 
social  community,  but  the  girl  herself  had  lit  in  her 
a  spark  of  interest  which  might  possibly  develop  into 
a  light  of  warm  friendship.  With  a  large  flight  of 
imagination  she  annihilated  the  fifteen  years'  difference 
in  their  ages,  ignored  the  diversity  between  the  out- 
look of  twenty  and  that  of  thirty-five,  and  was  ready 
to  admit  and  admire  the  wider  view  of  one  who  had 


76          The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

travelled  in  a  large  circle,  in  comparison  with  herself, 
who  had  scarcely  looked  over  the  edges  of  her  own 
groove. 

"Here  is  one  which  has  puzzled  me  more  than  any," 
she  said,  tapping  her  list  suggestively.  "I  wonder  if 
you  can  make  head  or  tail  of  it.  '  Derived  from  dog, 
may  bite  as  well  as  bark. ' 

"Derived  from  dog,  may  bite  as  well  as  bark," 
Hildred  repeated.  "My  mind  is  a  perfect  blank.  I 
really  am  very  stupid  about  such  things.  Is  there 
no  one  else  whom  you  could  ask?  Dr.  Lisle,  for 
instance.  Has  he  any  talent  in  that  direction?" 
The  girl  thought  vaguely  that  perhaps  an  un- 
expected bond  might  lurk  in  the  pages  of  a  mutual 
dictionary. 

Arab  flushed  a  slow  red.  "Oh,  no.  I  couldn't 
think  of  bothering  Dr.  Lisle.  Besides  he  rather 
laughs  at  my  competitions,  though  he  knows  they 
are  all  I  have  to  keep  my  mind  alive  in  this  dull  hole." 
She  spoke  with  sudden  vehemence  which  almost 
startled  Hildred. 

"There  are  different  sorts  of  laughter,"  the  girl 
rejoined  softly.  "  The  laughter  that  mocks,  the 
laughter  that  hurts,  and  the  laughter  that  understands. 
Probably  his  is  the  latter  kind,  the  kind  that  no  one 
minds." 

Arab's  hard,  bright  face  softened.  "Now,  how 
did  you  think  of  that?  "  she  asked.  "You  are  a  clever 
little  thing  to  hit  on  the  explanation  that  would  please 
me  most,  and  you  must  be  a  great  deal  older  than  you 
look  to  be  so  wise." 

"I  am  twenty." 

"Yes,  so  your  mother  told  us.     Sweet  and  twenty," 


Beginnings  and  Endings  77 

added  Arab  on  an  unexpected  impulse,  leaning  for- 
ward and  giving  her  a  little  peck  on  the  cheek,  which 
so  embarrassed  the  donor  that  she  hastily  returned  to 
her  list  with  a  little  cough,  as  if  of  warning  to  take 
no  notice  of  the  incident. 

Hildred  was  amused,  and  at  the  same  time  a  trifle 
touched.  The  spectacle  of  a  spirit  peering  out  of  the 
limitations  of  its  body  was  one  to  rouse  sympathy 
if  not  compassion.  Still,  the  groove  may  lead  to 
heaven  as  well  as  the  wider  road,  and  the  rut  merge 
into  the  great  Highway.  Who  can  tell?  The  out- 
look from  a  peak  may  breed  the  pride  of  the  eye, 
while  the  valley-dweller  has  only  to  raise  his  to  see 
the  stars. 

"Derived  from  dog — "  Arab  murmured.  "Ah, 
here  's  auntie,  at  last!" 

She  jumped  up  and  ran  to  greet  her  aunt.  All  her 
movements  were  quick  and  brisk,  and  accorded  with 
her  alert  glances.  The  elder  Miss  Lebarte  was  large 
and  imposing,  with  a  fuller  eye  and  a  more  command- 
ing nose  than  her  niece  could  boast,  and  she  sailed  to 
greet  Hildred  upon  a  wave  of  welcome. 

"  I  hope  Arab  has  made  my  apologies,  my  dear  Miss 
Ivors,"  she  said  benignly.  "I  could  not  help  my 
absence,  for  there  was  a  little  matter  which  positively 
had  to  be  seen  to  before  next  Sunday,  and  which 
would  brook  no  delay." 

"  I  quite  understood." 

"  And  you  two  girls  made  friends  meanwhile.  It  is 
such  a  boon  for  Arab  to  have  some  one  to  talk  to  who 
is  nearer  her  age  than  I  am,  and  I  hope  that  you  will 
come  to  see  her  very  often." 

Hildred  murmured  thanks.    Then  she  recollected 


78  The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

her  mother's  message  and  delivered  it.     Arab's  face 
brightened,  but  fell,  as  Miss  Lebarte  replied: 

"Wednesday?  Many  thanks,  my  dear,  but  it  is 
my  Mothers'  Meeting  day,  and  I  could  not  possibly 
go.  Mrs.  Ivors  must  have  forgotten — but  there,  she 
does  not  take  much  interest  in  parochial  matters. 
Her  tastes  lie  in  a  different  direction.  However,  I 
am  sure  it  will  give  Arab  much  pleasure  to  accept 
your  kind  invitation." 

,"0h,  thank  you,  Auntie!"  cried  Arab  in  such 
heartfelt  tones  that  Hildred  wondered  if  it  were 
possible  that  auntly  permission  had  to  be  granted  for 
every  outing  to  a  person  who  had  surely  reached  years 
of  discretion  long  ago. 

She  could  not  know  that  Miss  Lebarte  considered 
that  no  spinster  (always  excepting  herself)  ever 
reached  years  of  discretion.  To  the  members  of  the 
Honourable  Estate  alone  (with  the  exception  of  those 
mothers  whom  she  weekly  exhorted  and  instructed) 
was  freedom  of  action  or  initiative  permitted,  and  they, 
she  reflected  consolingly,  possessed  the  wholesome 
checking  influences  of  husbands. 

The  bringing  in  of  tea  created  a  diversion,  during 
which  Miss  Lebarte  questioned  Hildred  upon  her 
doings  since  her  coming  to  Whitecot.  When  she 
heard  of  her  gardening  experiences  she  benignantly 
desired  to  help. 

"If  it  were  not  for  those  dogs  you  could  have  a 
beautiful  herbaceous  border,"  she  exclaimed.  "But 
of  course  it  is  too  late  to  start  one  now  in  any  case. 
However,  in  the  autumn " 

"I  should  like  to  experiment  on  some  summer 
flowers  first,"  said  Hildred,  with  her  ready  flush,  a 


Beginnings  and  Endings  79 

blossom-like  rosiness  that  came  and  went  across  the 
fine  whiteness  of  her  skin  with  a  distinctly  attractive 
effect. 

"Auntie  is  a  great  gardener.  She  does  all  the 
planning  and  arranging,  and  every  one  admires 
our  garden." 

"And  what  do  you  do?" 

"Oh,  just  the  planting  and  tidying  and  weeding." 

"A  fair  division  of  labour  for  age  and  youth,"  said 
Miss  Lebarte  with  her  commanding  smile.  With  the 
generosity  of  the  true  garden-lover  she  pressed  plants 
and  cuttings  on  Hildred,  and  the  girl  went  home  with 
hospitable  invitations  ringing  in  her  ears  and  a  great 
basketful  of  green  summer  promises  in  her  arms. 


CHAPTER  VII 

MAY  DEW 

forget  that  to-morrow  is  May  Day,  and 
get  up  in  proper  time,  and  go  out  and  wash 
your  face  in  the  dew,"  said  Katherine  late  that  night. 

"What  do  you  call  proper  time,  three,  four,  five,  or 
six?"  asked  Hildred. 

"Go  on  with  you!"  said  Katherine,  her  grim  face 
relaxing  into  a  smile.  "Be  off  before  the  good  has 
been  sucked  out  of  it  by  the  sun,  for  the  first  dew  of 
the  mother  of  months  will  do  your  skin  more  good 
than  all  the  nostrums  in  the  world." 

"Why,  Katherine,  have  you  been  reading  Chaucer? 
'May,  that  mother  is  of  monethes  glad'—  '  the  girl 
quoted  softly. 

"What  Chaucer?  Never  heard  of  him,  except  an 
old  shepherd  at  home  that  used  to  beat  his  wife  every 
Saturday  night  as  regular  as  the  calendar.  You 
could  set  your  watch  by  her  screams." 

"Katherine!" 

"Well,  that 's  all  the  Chaucer  I  ever  knew,  and  she 
used  to  scream  before  ever  he  laid  a  finger  on  her, 
like  a  sensible  woman.  My  old  grandame  used  to 
say  that  May  was  the  mother  of  months  and  May 
dew  the  magic  which  made  roses  blossom  on  the 
young  maids'  cheeks." 

80 


May  Dew  81 

"That 's  as  poetical  as  Chaucer." 

"What  poetical!     Poetry  won't  butter  parsnips." 

"I  don't  want  it  to." 

"No,  you're  full  of  whimsies.  That's  why  I 
reminded  you  about  the  May  dew.  Where  's  your 
mamma?" 

"Asleep  in  her  chair  in  the  dining-room.  She 
seems  tired.  She  lost  her  match,  but  they  played 
another  round  and  won,  and  they  stayed  on  playing 
until  just  dinner-time." 

"  Tired,  is  she?  That 's  not  like  her.  I  hope  she  's 
not  ailing,"  cried  Katherine,  all  gruff  anxiety.  "I  '11 
go  and  wake  her  up,  and  make  her  a  hot  drink  and 
send  her  to  her  comfortable  bed.  Off  with  you,  and 
if  you  're  not  out  by  six  I  '11  bring  you  up  a  cup  of  tea." 

"Oh,  don't  bother  about  it,"  said  Hildred,  mounting 
upwards,  hearing  as  she  went  a  sharp  remonstrance 
from  her  mother  for  Katherine's  arousal  of  her. 

She  and  Katherine  had  dug  a  bed  for  the  little 
plants  which  Miss  Lebarte  had  given  her,  fencing  it 
round  carefully  with  chevaux  defrise  of  sticks  and  wire 
to  prevent  canine  depredation.  Katherine  had  also 
bought  her  some  mignonette  and  poppy-seed  in  the 
village,  and  she  fell  asleep  dreaming  of  the  riot  of 
sweetness  and  colour  which  as  yet  lay  hidden  in  the 
tiny  dry  globules. 

The  choir  of  birds  awoke  her  early  to  the  magic 
symphony  of  May,  thrush  and  blackbird  vying  in 
golden  solo,  mellow  note  after  note  falling  round 
and  lyric  through  the  hushed  air,  a  dew  of  sound,  as 
evanescent  as  beautiful. 

The  house  was  still  in  slumber.  She  rose  softly, 
dressed,  and  stole  out  into  the  sweet  morning  fra- 


82          The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

grance.  A  gap  in  the  hedge  behind  the  shrubbery  led 
into  the  field  near  the  house.  Hildred  slipped  through 
it  into  a  world  of  dew,  whose  crystal  drops  beaded 
heavily  each  drooping  blade  of  grass,  and  filmed 
gossamer-thread  and  cobweb  to  a  fairy  silver.  It  was 
a  green  May  emerging  from  an  early  springing  April, 
a  May  pausing  on  the  threshold  of  her  first  morning 
in  dryad  wonder.  Overhead  the  beech-trees  spread 
delicate  black  branches  thick  with  exquisite  young 
leaves,  as  light  in  frondage  as  giant  maidenhair  ferns; 
through  their  thin  translucence  a  sky  of  half- veiled 
blue  peeped  tenderly. 

Hildred  went  out  into  the  grass,  stooped  and 
gathered  the  dew  in  rosy  palms,  bathing  her  face 
again  and  again  in  its  fresh  moisture.  Never  before 
had  she  savoured  a  sensation  so  exquisite,  so  fresh,  so 
pure.  She  felt  newly  created — a  virgin  Eve  in  the 
world's  first  morning.  She  moved  through  the  heavy 
grass  in  ecstasy,  not  knowing  whither  she  went,  drawn 
towards  the  open  by  spirals  of  song  from  mounting 
larks.  At  her  feet  the  daisies  opened  eyes  of  wonder, 
and  the  buttercups  lifted  burnished  golden  chalices 
to  the  sun,  mounting,  like  the  larks,  to  his  appointed 
zenith;  while  in  the  hedges  frail  blue  speedwells 
reflected  the  deepening  colour  of  the  sky. 

Another  gap  lured  her  unwitting  feet.  She  passed 
through  beneath  the  elms,  whose  shed  blossom-discs 
carpeted  ground  and  bank  with  palest  green,  while 
overhead  their  branches  were  as  yet  merely  filmed 
with  tiny  leaves,  to  find  that  the  country  dipped  to  a 
sudden  valley  beneath  her — a  wooded  valley  of  oak 
and  fir  and  larch ;  a  wonderland  of  greens  of  every  hue 
from  the  bluish  depths  of  the  fir  through  the  young 


May  Dew  83 

yellow  of  the  oak  to  the  tasselled  pride  of  the 
larch. 

The  undergrowth  at  the  opposite  side  was  a  tangle 
of  brambles,  whose  light  new  trails  rose  triumphing 
above  the  darker  growths  of  last  year;  the  near  side 
was  spread  with  the  pale  brown  croziers  which  the  ferns 
lifted  above  the  rust  of  their  dead  leaves,  and  emerald 
patches  of  wood-anemones;  while  on  a  slope  towards 
a  trickling  stream,  a  faint  hyacinth  mist  presaged 
bluebells. 

Hildred  ran  towards  them,  her  spirit  dancing,  her 
heart  singing;  the  youth  of  the  year  calling  to  the 
youth  in  her  found  an  echo  invincible.  The  bubbling, 
brown  stream  danced  over  sun-flecked  stones,  rippling 
and  laughing  at  the  spring  secrets  it  knew.  Like  the 
trees  that  listen  to  immemorial  lovers  all  Nature 
knows  but  does  not  tell,  save  to  those  who  have  ears 
to  hear  and  eyes  to  see  withal. 

The  bluebells  were  but  a  promise  yet;  a  full  bell, 
emerging  here  and  there  from  the  clustered  buds, 
drew  the  threads  of  the  amethyst-grey  veil  that  soon 
would  turn  to  a  magical  mist  of  blue. 

Hildred  knelt,  in  spirit  as  well  as  body.  The  petty 
annoyances  and  disappointments  of  daily  life  were 
forgotten,  obliterated,  swept  aside  like  the  cobwebs 
whose  delicate  weft  her  careless  feet  had  passed 
through  in  their  quest  of  May  dew.  The  hours  were 
winged.  Time,  as  divided  into  prosaic  minutes,  was 
not.  It  was  a  moment  of  spiritual  growth,  lit  by  a 
far  radiance  of  the  eternal.  It  was  a  thread  of  sudden 
gold  woven  into  the  fabric  of  her  life,  unsought,  its 
import  unnoted  in  its  passing,  but  never  to  be  set 
aside  or  forgotten. 


84          The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

The  sound  of  a  footstep  on  the  upper  path  trampled 
among  her  dreams  and  put  them  to  flight.  She  rose 
to  the  reluctant  admission  of  others  into  this  magic 
morning  world.  A  whistling  accompaniment  to  the 
heavy  footfalls  premised  a  ploughboy  or  a  shepherd; 
some  country  yokel  whose  dreams  rose  no  higher  than 
bread  and  cheese  and  kisses. 

Prose  brushed  aside  the  gossamer  wings  of  fancy, 
and,  taking  Hildred  by  the  hand,  led  her  back  to 
Whitecot  through  the  dew-field  where  now  pastured 
an  intrusive  flock  of  sheep  and  lambs,  who  had  long 
since  shaken  the  dew-drops'  stars  of  morning  from 
their  grassy  heaven. 

As  Hildred  slipped  in  through  the  gap  she  came 
face  to  face  with  the  little  almond-tree,  whose  fortress 
she  and  Katherine  had  so  successfully  assailed  and 
demolished. 

"You  are  free,  fairy  princess  among  trees,"  she 
murmured.  "Oh,  you  exquisite  thing,  you  are  as 
rosy  as  the  sunrise  on  the  snow  mountains!" 

She  stood  rapt  for  another  magic  moment,  so 
absorbed  that  she  neither  heard  the  opening  of  the 
wicket  nor  the  sound  of  approaching  footsteps  until 
a  voice  spoke  behind  her. 

"  If  every  common  bush  is  afire  with  God,  what  then 
is  this?"  it  asked  softly. 

The  tone  and  words  so  fitted  with  her  mood  that  it 
was  scarcely  with  surprise  that  she  turned  to  find  a 
man  at  her  elbow,  a  little  brown,  wiry  man  with  eyes 
of  that  surprising  forget-me-not  blue  which  is  so 
rarely  seen  outside  the  fields  of  childhood. 

"But  only  he  who  sees  takes  off  his  shoes,"  she 
finished  the  quotation  gravely. 


May  Dew  85 

"Apropos  of  which,"  said  the  little  man,  glancing 
downwards  with  a  change  of  manner,  "your  own  shoes 
are  as  wet  as  if  you  had  been  walking  through  a  river. 
You  ought  to  go  in  and  change  them  at  once.  I  am 
a  doctor — Dr.  Lisle — so  I  speak  with  authority." 

Hildred  laughed;  she  felt  an  instant  sympathy 
with  this  little  man  of  Protean  changes  of  mood,  none 
of  which,  she  felt  with  sudden  intuition,  would  ever 
jar  or  wound. 

'  The  wet  has  n't  penetrated  yet,  though  you 
brought  me  back  to  earth  with  a  bump!  I  've  been 
to  church  in  a  wood  where  the  bluebells  rang  the 
chimes." 

"You  've  been  washing  your  face  in  the  May  dew." 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"By  the  result,  of  course.  But,  pardon  my  curi- 
osity, are  you  an  expert  exponent  of  the  mango 
trick?" 

"The  mango  trick?"  Hildred  looked  puzzled. 

He  waved  his  hand  towards  the  almond-tree.  "I 
have  come  here  at  all  times  and  all  seasons  within 
the  last  three  years,  and  never  have  I  beheld  that  slip 
of  enchantment  before.  Did  you  evolve  it  out  of  the 
bare  earth?  You  could  n't  have  planted  it  there  in 
full  blossom." 

Hildred  smiled  again,  her  varying  flush  fleeting  like 
cloud-shadows  across  her  cheeks.  "It  was  always 
there,"  she  answered.  "But  it  was  hidden  behind  a 
bay-tree  which  was  more  than  half  dead.  Katherine 
and  I  cut  it  down  and  released  the  prisoner." 

"It  was  always  there,  but  it  took  you  to  show  it  to 
us,"  he  repeated  softly.  "A  very  pretty  morning's 
work,  upon  my  word,  very  pretty.  Now  go  in  and 


86          The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

change  your  shoes  and  tell  your  mother — for  I  pre- 
sume you  are  Miss  Ivors — that  Dr.  Lisle  would  like 
to  see  her  for  a  moment." 

"If  she's  visible." 

"  She  's  sure  to  be  visible.  Mrs.  Ivors  is  one  of  the 
early  birds." 

"But  what  o'clock  is  it?"  asked  Hildred. 

"After  eight." 

"And  I  've  been  out  since  five!" 

"You  must  be  hungry,"  remarked  Dr.  Lisle,  with 
a  dry  smile.  "May  dew  and  bluebell  music  make 
somewhat  unsubstantial  fare. " 

"Hallo,  that  you?  I  heard  voices  and  wondered 
who  it  could  be  at  this  unearthly  hour?"  Mrs. 
Ivors  emerged  from  the  house  with  a  golf-club  under 
her  arm,  and  sauntered  towards  them.  "Now  don't 
say  you  Ve  come  to  tell  me  that  foursome  's  off, 
doctor." 

"  I  'm  afraid  I  have.  I  've  got  to  go  to  Mudford 
by  the  9.20,  for  a  consultation." 

Mrs.  Ivors's  face  fell.  "Well,  you  need  n't  look  so 
radiant  over  it.  I  would  n't  have  let  you  in  for  such 
a  licking  as  we  got  yesterday.  Something  tells  me 
I  'm  in  form  to-day." 

"All  good  luck  go  with  you,  then.  You  '11  easily 
get  another  man." 

"One  would  think  you  liked  going  to  Mudford; 
dirty  little  hole." 

"It  means  work,  my  good  madam,"  answered  the 
doctor,  with  a  light  in  his  blue  eyes,  "and  though  you 
won't  agree  with  me,  work  is  a  hundred  times  better 
than  play." 

"That 's  just  one  of  your  platitudes,"  snapped  Mrs. 


May  Dew  87 

Ivors.  "But  where  did  you  two  pick  each  other 
up?" 

"I  saw  Miss  Ivors  dryad-worshipping.  She  was 
adoring  the  nymph  of  the  almond-tree,  so  I  went  and 
joined  her." 

"The  nymph  of  the  almond-tree?  What  rot  you 
talk!  Oh,  that  wretched  little  bush?  I  see.  The 
cult  of  the  beautiful  in  full  swing."  Her  lip  curled 
disagreeably.  She  turned  to  the  house,  shattering 
the  last  fragments  of  the  morning's  magic. 

Then  she  swung  back  again,  her  face  a  little  clearer. 
"Won't  you  breakfast  with  us,  doctor?  Do.  I  hear 
and  smell  bacon  frying  in  the  kitchen.  Hildred,  tell 
Katherine  that  Dr.  Lisle  will  be  here  for  breakfast, 
and  don't  be  long." 

"I  must  change  my  shoes  and  skirt,"  said  Hildred, 
"but  please  don't  wait  for  me." 

"Why?    What  have  you  been  doing?" 

"Something  silly,  as  usual,"  blushed  Hildred. 
"Scold  Katherine  if  you  like.  It  was  she  who  put 
me  up  to  it." 

She  disappeared  into  the  house,  her  pulses  beating 
with  a  pleasurable  sense  of  excitement,  and  entered 
the  dining-room,  fresh  and  fair  in  a  pale  pink  cotton 
frock  just  as  Mrs.  Ivors  began  to  pour  out  the  tea." 

"I  hear  that  you  are  not  a  golfer,  Miss  Ivors," 
said  Dr.  Lisle.  "We  must  banish  golf  from  our 
conversation." 

"Please  don't  on  my  account." 

"Would  n't  you  think  it  rather  rude  if  Mrs.  Ivors 
and  I  began  to  talk  Dutch,  knowing  that  you  did  n't 
understand  a  word  of  the  language?" 

"It's  an  apt  analogy,"  laughed  Hildred.     "But 


88  The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

what  shall  we  substitute,  the  weather  or  the  country? 
Both  are  exquisite  at  present." 

"The  country  for  choice.  The  beeches  are  at 
their  loveliest  now." 

"Yes,  but  they  thicken  and  darken  in  a  few  days," 
said  Mrs.  Ivors,  "and  lose  their  bloom  even  quicker 
than  a  young  girl." 

Hildred  glanced  at  her  mother,  wondering  if  a  snub 
were  intended,  but  Mrs.  Ivors's  face  was  impassive. 

"What  a  pity  that  young  things  must  grow  up!" 
Hildred  exclaimed.  "I  passed  through  a  field  of 
sheep  and  lambs  this  morning,  and  the  lambs  were  so 
pretty  with  the  light  shining  pinkly  through  their 
ears,  while  the  sheep  looked  so  ugly  with  their  weight 
of  wool  and  their  bare  faces  looking  exactly  as  if  they 
had  screwed  all  their  hair  tightly  back." 

Dr.  Lisle  laughed.  "Yes,  young  things  are  poign- 
antly pretty,"  he  said. 

"Not  young  birds,"  put  in  Mrs.  Ivors  quickly. 
"Most  young  birds  are  perfectly  hideous.  Young 
swallows  are  exactly  like  two  wood-lice  joined  together, 
and  their  ugly  fluff — ugh!" 

"I  think  I  like  young  things  because  they  are  little 
and  helpless,"  said  Hildred  softly. 

"I  don't,"  answered  Mrs.  Ivors  shortly.  "But 
then  I  fear  I  have  n't  got  what  you  call  the  maternal 
instinct." 

It  was  an  odd  speech  for  a  mother  to  make  before 
her  only  child.  Dr.  Lisle  looked  from  Mrs.  Ivors, 
hard,  spare,  and  muscular,  to  Hildred's  soft  curves 
and  pliant  lines,  and  thought  that  the  maid  suggested 
more  of  the  derided  instinct  than  the  matron.  The 
situation  piqued  and  puzzled  him,  but  he  was  used 


May  Dew  89 

to  the  facing  of  problems  in  his  professional  life, 
which  had  taught  him  many  things — noticeably  the 
useful  lesson  of  knowing  when  to  interfere  and  when 
to  stand  aside. 

"There  's  a  great  deal  too  much  sentimentality  in 
the  world,"  said  Mrs.  Ivors,  helping  herself  to  toast, 
and  crunching  it  determinedly.  "I  bar  sentiment, 
I  must  say." 

"Who  sat  up  all  night  with  a  sick  dog?"  asked  Dr. 
Lisle  of  no  one  in  particular. 

"Pish!  My  dear  man,  that  was  humanity,  not 
sentiment.  You  should  choose  your  words  better." 
She  smiled  until  her  lips  drew  into  a  thin  line.  "In 
my  early  days  I  had  much  instruction  upon  the  nice 
discrimination  of  words,  the  selection,  the  meaning, 
the  shades  of  meaning,  the  beauty  of  the  ring  of  the 
right  word  in  prose  or  poetry!" 

Hildred  had  again  the  hurt  sensation  of  quotation 
marks;  she  knew  too  well  whose  phrases  were  being 
hurled  at  her  like  javelins. 

"Poetry  I  bar  at  all  costs!  Oh,  Lord,  what  a 
relief  it  was  to  drop  into  slang  again!"  She  leaned 
back  in  her  chair  and  laughed,  but  it  was  a  laughter 
that  sounded  like  the  clash  of  steel,  very  different 
from  the  bubbling  spring  of  mirth  which  had  con- 
centrated her  senses  into  the  one  tense  effort  of  hearing 
only  yesterday. 

There  was  a  pause — a  weighted,  sharp-edged  pause. 
Then  Hildred,  with  a  voice  which  trembled  a  little 
despite  a  valiant  effort  at  self-control,  turned  to  Dr. 
Lisle,  and  said: 

'Apropos  of  words,  do  you  know  any  one  ending 
in  'ic'  which  is  derived  from  dog?" 


90          The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

It  was  rather  a  surprising  question  in  the  circum- 
stances, but  Dr.  Lisle,  turning  on  the  girl  blue  eyes 
full  of  admiration  for  her  adroitness,  rose  to  the 
occasion  and  answered  almost  without  thought : 

"Cynic.  Yes,  from  the  Greek,  kyon,  kynos,  a 
dog." 

"Ah,  that  must  be  it,"  cried  Hildred,  in  quick  relief. 
"I  must  tell  Miss  Arabella  Lebarte.  She  will  be  so 
pleased." 

"One  of  Miss  Arab's  competitions."  Dr.  Lisle 
laughed  softly.  "Well,  they  give  her  an  interest,  a 
mental  interest  I  mean,  in  a  place  where  there  are 
very  few  to  be  had." 

Hildred  smiled  in  response;  it  was  another  bond. 
He  understood,  and  before  she  had  even  seen  him 
she  had  known  he  would. 

"Rubbish,"  said  Mrs.  Ivors.  "She  has  her  garden 
and  her  aunt  and  the  parish  and  the  Standish  Tennis 
Club  in  summer.  I  call  that  plenty  of  interest  for  a 
single  woman." 

"Come  now,  Mrs.  Ivors,  you  know  you  like  your 
paper  as  well  as  any  one,  and  can  appreciate  a  good 
leading  article  with  the  best." 

"The  sporting  news  is  all  that  interests  me," 
answered  Mrs.  Ivors  perversely.  "That  is  when  it 
does  n't  involve  killing  things  unnecessarily.  I  don't 
want  to  be  inhospitable,  but  you  '11  miss  your  train 
if  you  don't  go  now,  my  good  man." 

Dr.  Lisle  rose.  Mrs.  Ivors  buttonholed  him  as  one 
man  would  another. 

"Don't  forget,  consultation  or  no  consultation, 
that  you  've  promised  to  come  here  for  tennis  on 
Wednesday." 


May  Dew  91 

"  I  won't  forget.     No  fear  of  that." 

"And  would  you  tell  Miss  Arab  about  'cynic'  your- 
self?" Hildred  suggested,  as  he  held  her  hand  for  a 
moment.  "That  is,  if  it  is  n't  out  of  your  way.  I  'm 
rather  hazy  about  the  lie  of  the  land  as  yet." 

"I  '11  call  at  Hillside  on  my  way  back  to-night," 
he  promised.     "Meanwhile  I  hope  you  won't  forget 
how  to  do  the  mango  trick." 

Hildred  laughed.  She  reminded  Dr.  Lisle  of  the 
almond-tree  as  she  stood  there,  a  young  blossom  of 
womanhood  in  her  pink  gown. 

"What  does  he  mean?"  asked  Mrs.  Ivors,  when  he 
had  gone. 

"It  was  only  a  joke,"  Hildred  explained  flatly. 
"He  pretended  to  think  that  I  put  the  almond-tree 
there  myself.  That  was  all." 

"Nonsense  enough,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Ivors,  but 
her  tone  had  lost  its  edge. 

She  got  up  to  collect  her  golf-clubs,  and  in  passing 
pinched  Hildred's  cheek,  leaving  her  agasp  at  this 
caress  in  the  rough. 

"What  a  soft  little  pussy-thing  it  is!"  she  said, 
as  she  turned,  whistling  tunelessly,  to  get  her  bicycle. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  TENNIS  PARTY 

BY  the  time  that  Wednesday  broke  cloudlessly 
into  a  day  of  perfect  summer,  still  freshly 
tinged  with  spring,  Hildred  had  settled  into  the 
Whitecot  routine,  adapted  her  lines  to  its  lines,  her 
curves  to  its  irregularities.  It  seemed  to  her  some- 
what strange  that  she  should  have  fitted  so  easily 
and  so  quickly  into  what  was  in  a  sense  such  an  alien 
environment,  but  the  three  years  of  travel  in  different 
countries  had  rendered  her  more  adaptable  to  her 
surroundings  than  if  she  had  lived  the  ordinary  life 
of  an  ordinary  English  girl.  Not  that  such  apparent 
plasticity  implied  weakness  of  character;  the  chame- 
leon, though  he  may  vary  his  hue  according  to 
circumstances,  still  remains  a  chameleon. 

Katherine's  crusty  warmth  cheered  and  amused 
her,  while  she  felt  instinctively  that  Mrs.  I vors's  sudden 
onslaughts  of  hostility  were  directed  more  towards 
her  father  in  her  than  towards  her  own  personality. 
She  felt  outbursts  of  sympathy  for  and  with  the 
absent,  even  while  her  spirits  rose  in  response  to  some 
unexpected  tinge  of  approval  from  the  present  parent. 
She  did  not  try  to  analyse  the  situation;  with  the 
healthy  optimism  of  youth  she  accepted  the  daily 

92 


The  Tennis  Party  93 

round  as  it  came,  and  gazed  into  no  imaginative  crystal 
for  future  revelation. 

After  breakfast  she  paused  at  the  drawing-room 
door. 

"I  was  thinking  of  bringing  in  some  flowers  and 
branches  to  give  this  place  a  more  lived-in  look,  if  I 
may,"  she  said  tentatively. 

"Certainly  not,"  declared  Mrs.  Ivors.  "I  see  no 
sense  in  making  any  place  look  like  a  Jack-in-the- 
green.  The  whole  room  is  a  concession  to  Katherine 
and  conventionality.  She  insisted  that  I  should  have 
a  drawing-room,  though  I  never  use  it." 

"What  about  tea?" 

"We  '11  have  tea  out  of  doors  in  the  little  summer- 
house,  so  you  can  save  yourself  the  trouble  of  making 
the  room  look  beautiful." 

"I  could  n't  do  that  in  its  present  condition.  The 
best  I  could  do  would  be  to  make  it  look  pretty." 

"  There  you  go!  Pretty  and  beautiful!  What 's 
the  difference!" 

"All  the  difference  in  the  world,"  cried  Hildred, 
pricked  to  an  undesired  discussion. 

"  Pray  enlighten  my  ignorance."  Mrs.  Ivors  leaned 
against  the  hall  table  as  she  lit  a  cigarette,  and  pre- 
pared to  listen.  It  almost  seemed  as  if  she  probed 
deliberately  for  the  artist  in  Hildred,  and  as  if  the 
result  hurt  her  more  than  it  did  the  girl. 

Hildred  was  roused  to  defend  her  young  absorbed 
opinions;  her  worship  of  the  beautiful  was  almost  a 
religion  with  her. 

"Ruskin  says,"  she  began. 

"Oh,  tell  me  in  your  own  words.  Don't  fling 
Ruskin  at  me." 


94          The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

"  My  own  words  will  be  only  an  echo  of  his — that 
if  a  thing  has  once  been  really  beautiful,  any  fragment 
of  it  which  remains  will  still  be  beautiful,  for  instance 
the  mutilated  but  lovely  Dancing  Maenad  in  Berlin, 
or  the  portion  of  the  foot  of  the  Venus  de  Milo."  She 
would  not  mention  her  beloved  winged  Victory. 

"I've  been  kicked  with  that  foot  before,"  said 
Mrs.  Ivors  drily.  "Go  on." 

"  On  the  other  hand  if  you  found  a  bit  of  a  modern 
Dresden-china  figure  you  would  not  know  if  it  had 
even  been  pretty  or  not." 

"Useless  trash  the  whole  lot,"  said  Mrs.  Ivors, 
blowing  smoke-rings.  "What 's  the  good  of  prettiness 
after  all?  Pretty  girls  quickly  change  into  plain 
elderly  women.  You  'd  never  believe  that  I  had  been 
pretty  once,  would  you?" 

"Yes,  I  would.  Why  not?  I  saw  you  look  twenty 
once." 

"You  saw  me  look  twenty?     May  I  ask  when?" 

"I  think  it  was  the  day  I  came.  I  said  something 
which  piqued  you,  and  you  sparkled  up  and  looked 
as  you  must  have  looked  then." 

"Did  I?  Well,  I  had  my  hour,  I  suppose,  like 
most  girls,  and  much  good  it  did  me.  You  are  a 
queer  child,  Hildred.  Now  I  must  go  and  mark  the 
tennis-ground." 

"Can  I  help?" 

"No.  You  'd  probably  spill  the  stuff  all  over  the 
court.  Perhaps  Katherine  will  have  something  for 
you  to  do,  but  mind,  I  won't  have  any  flowers  on  the 
tea-table.  Some  one  is  bound  to  knock  'em  over  if 
you  put  'em  there,  and  make  what  Katherine  calls  a 
splother." 


The  Tennis  Party  95 

"Very  well,"  answered  Hildred  with  a  mock  meek- 
ness which  her  dancing  eyes  belied. 

She  went  to  help  Katherine,  while  Mrs.  Ivors  set 
about  her  self-appointed  task  with  all  the  careless 
energy  which  characterised  her  undertakings.  Al- 
though the  old  markings  loomed  white  enough  to 
guide  her  to  accuracy  she  drove  the  machine  with  a 
Jehu-like  recklessness  which  caused  the  lines  to  waver 
erratically  here  and  there,  noting  sudden  dashes  with 
a  splash  of  thickening  and  diminishing  to  an  accurate 
illustration  of  Euclid's  definition  of  a  line  when  the 
machine  began  to  require  replenishing. 

She  was  hot  and  exhausted  by  the  time  the  court 
was  marked,  and  she  sat  on  the  floor  of  the  summer- 
house,  with  Tartar  sprawling  across  her  lap,  to  cool 
herself.  Thoughts  circled  through  her  mind  with 
such  intensity  that  she  let  her  cigarette  go  out.  It 
was  not  often  that  she  allowed  herself  time  to  think; 
the  process  was,  to  her,  neither  exhilarating  nor 
amusing.  At  last,  shaking  Tartar  off  her  lap  with  a 
sigh,  she  rose  and  went  to  the  house  to  fetch  a  ball 
and  club  and  practise  putting  on  the  tennis-ground. 

"It 's  the  very  deuce  to  be  idle,"  she  said,  ruefully. 
"  If  Dr.  Lisle  had  said  that  any  occupation  was  better 
than  idleness  I  'd  have  agreed  with  him  in  toto.  Was 
Hildred  dabbling  her  fingers  in  the  pie  matrimonial, 
I  wonder?  I  hope  she  's  not  going  to  develop  into 
that  sort  of  woman.  There  ought  to  be  a  clause  in 
the  Litany — 'From  all  match-making  women,  Good 
Lord,  deliver  us ! '  If  I  had  been  taught  that  prayer 
in  my  youth  I  might  n't  have  made  such  a  mess  of 
my  life." 

She  putted  with  such  unexpected  force  that  the 


96          The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

ball  dashed  across  the  path  and  disappeared  into  a 
cabbage-patch,  in  which,  probably,  her  guests  would 
spend  a  goodly  portion  of  their  afternoon  hunting 
for  vanished  tennis-balls. 

Hildred  looked  forward  to  the  advent  of  the  Wave- 
neys  with  mingled  feelings,  and  an  irresolution  as 
regarded  her  own  demeanour  towards  them.  Should 
she  cover  Lady  Waveney  with  confusion  by  reminding 
her  of  their  former  encounter?  No,  that  would  hurt 
too  dreadfully ;  it  would  make  the  delinquent  ashamed 
and  miserable  from  the  outset,  and  after  all,  she  was 
her  mother's  guest.  It  was  better  to  ignore  the  whole 
affair;  not  to  intimate  by  so  much  as  the  flutter  of 
an  eyelash,  unless  she  were  forced  to,  the  acknowledg- 
ment, that  she  had  ever  seen  the  Waveneys  before. 
And  yet  they  deserved  to  be  taught  a  lesson.  It  was 
very  ill-bred  of  them  to  discuss  a  relation  so  openly 
in  the  presence  of  a  third  and  unknown  person. 

So  swung  the  see-saw  of  Hildred's  impulses,  so 
wavered  the  decision  of  the  thumbs;  whether  the 
errant  lady  was  to  be  cast  to  the  lions  of  remorse,  or 
rescued  to  a  grateful  recognition  of  tactful  disregard. 

The  prospect  of  immediate  gaiety,  however  slight, 
also  stirred  the  girl  to  a  sense  of  quickened  life,  and  it 
was  with  a  pleasant  tingle  of  excitement  that  she 
dressed  for  the  tennis-party.  Katherine  had  been 
most  particular  and  hard  to  please  about  her  toilette ; 
had  rejected  frock  after  frock  of  her  summer  outfit 
with  uplifted  nose  of  scorn. 

At  last  she  made  a  definite  suggestion. 

"I  'd  like  to  see  you  in  white,"  she  said,  "like  you 
used  to  be  when  you  was  little." 


The  Tennis  Party  97 

"This  is  the  best  white  for  tennis,"  answered 
Hildred,  picking  out  of  the  heap  which  bestrewed  her 
bed  a  simple,  soft  white  lawn,  hand-embroidered  with 
delicate  stitchery. 

"Yes,  I  suppose  that  '11  do,"  said  Katherine  grudg- 
ingly. "  It  looks  good  for  all  it 's  so  plain." 

"It  is  good,  you  old  goose !    Wait  till  you  see  it  on." 

So  when  she  was  arrayed  in  her  first  summer  white- 
ness she  went  down  to  the  kitchen  to  undergo  Kather- 
ine's  inspection,  and  emerge  with  credit,  if  possible, 
from  the  fire  of  those  critical  eyes. 

Katherine  took  in  every  detail,  from  the  broad  white 
hat  with  its  simple  curves  and  band  of  black  velvet 
to  the  silk-clocked  stockings  and  white  shoes. 

"H'm.     You  '11  do,"  she  grunted. 

Hildred  pirouetted  with  delight.  At  that  moment 
even  the  great  Fadette's  approval  would  have  given 
her  less  pleasure  than  Katherine's  grudging  comment. 

"There's  one  thing  wanting,  though.  You 
need  n't  look  so  glum.  Knowing  the  fancy  you  have 
for  all  them  silly  things  I  picked  'em  this  morning  for 
you  before  the  sun  got  too  hot."  Katherine  produced 
from  behind  a  plate  on  the  dresser  (where  they  had 
been  carefully  hidden  from  Hildred's  eyes  all  the 
morning)  a  cluster  of  pale  pink  roses,  half -blown, 
half -bud,  exquisite  and  fragrant. 

"There  in  your  belt.     That 's  the  place  for  'em." 

Hildred  kissed  the  blossoms  before  she  tucked  them 
into  her  belt. 

"  Katherine,  you  're  a  fairy  godmother  in  disguise! " 
she  cried. 

"What  disguise?  Aren't  I  a  fairy  right  enough 
without  any  disguises  at  all?"  Katherine  gave  her 

7 


98          The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

grim  chuckle.  "Go  along  with  you  now  out  of  my 
kitchen  and  give  a  busy  woman  time  to  breathe  before 
them  cormorants  come  pouncing  down  on  us  for  their 
tea." 

Hildred  flitted  out  into  the  hall,  half -excited,  half- 
shy,  at  the  thought  of  meeting  her  mother's  friends. 
The  sound  of  approaching  voices  stilled  her  dancing 
steps.  She  stopped,  with  a  wild  impulse  of  flight 
which  might  have  sped  her  to  her  room  if  Mrs.  Ivors 
had  not  caught  sight  of  her  through  the  open  door. 

"Ah,  Hildred,  there  you  are.  Come  and  be  intro- 
duced to  my  cousins  and  yours."  Unwonted  gracious- 
ness  savoured  Mrs.  Ivors's  tones.  She  put  out  a  hand 
to  the  girl  to  draw  her  nearer. 

Hildred  went  forward  with  concealed  reluctance. 
The  dreaded  moment  had  arrived;  were  the  thumbs 
to  go  up  or  down? 

The  introduction  was  affected.  Lady  Waveney 
shook  her  hand  and  said:  "Glad  to  meet  you." 

Sir  John  exclaimed  in  what  Hildred  called  his 
"turnippy  way": 

"So  this  is  your  daughter,  Harry?  I  thought  she 
was  a  little  girl  from  your  description,  and  here  you 
are  springin'  a  young  lady  on  us,  eh?  Up  to  your 
tricks  as  usual,  Harry.  Never  knew  such  a  sport!" 

Both  kindly  country  faces  regarded  the  girl  with 
interest,  but  to  her  relief,  and  perhaps  a  shade  of 
chagrin,  nothing  more.  There  was  no  recognition  in 
either  pair  of  eyes;  no  consciousness  of  ever  having 
beheld  "Harry's"  daughter  before.  There  had  been 
no  need  for  apprehension  after  all,  no  call  upon  her 
inner  resources,  no  necessity  for  thumb-gymnastics, 
or  tactful  ignorings.  With  her  ready  blush,  Hildred 


The  Tennis  Party  99 

replied  to  the  kindly  greetings,  feeling  not  unlike  a 
pricked  balloon.  She  did  not  realise  that  there  was 
nothing  essentially  French  about  her  appearance 
to-day,  that  in  the  white  simplicity  of  her  array,  except 
for  an  unusual  daintiness  of  detail  and  carefulness  of 
hair-dressing,  she  closely  resembled  the  average  fresh, 
wholesome-looking  English  girl.  White  muslin  and 
pink  roses?  What  could  be  more  typical?  It  would 
have  needed  a  subtler  observer  than  Lady  Waveney 
to  detect  the  tell-tale  nuances  of  style. 

"Fresh  from  the  Continent  and  not  a  golfer?"  she 
was  saying.  "What  a  mercy  you  play  tennis!  You 
must  join  the  Standish  Tennis  Club.  It 's  quite  a 
nice  one.  And  we  often  play  at  Standish  Court,  too. 
You  must  come  over  some  day." 

"That  would  be  very  nice,"  answered  Hildred 
flatly,  noting  the  unconscious  change  of  tone  which 
always  followed  the  discovery  of  her  non-existence 
as  a  golfer.  It  amused  her,  and  she  laughed  suddenly. 
It  was  a  pleasant  rippling  sound,  but  Lady  Waveney 
regarded  her  oddly.  To  laugh  without  a  cause 
betokened  an  ill-balanced  mind. 

"Eccentric,  like  her  poor  father,  I  suppose,"  she 
commented  mentally.  "When  Harry  vaguely  hinted 
at  eccentricity  I  knew  she  meant  madness.  I  wonder 
if  he  's  shut  up  anywhere,  or  if  his  is  only  the  harmless 
madness  of  all  artistic  people.  One  can't  very  well 
mention  the  subject  to  Harry.  Have  you  seen  your 
father  lately?"  she  suddenly  shot  at  Hildred. 

"I  am  going  to  spend  next  winter  with  him  in 
Egypt,"  Hildred  replied,  startled  into  a  statement. 

"Oh.  That  will  be  quite  nice.  At  least  for  those 
who  care  for  travelling,  as  I  presume  you  do."  She 


ioo         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

talked  down  to  Hildred,  as  if  the  implication  included 
her  own  personal  superiority  to  such  desires.  "I 
don't.  My  husband  persuaded  me  to  go  to  Paris  for 
my  honeymoon,  but  I  was  afraid  to  eat  anything  but 
ham  there  for  fear  I  should  get  frogs  or  snails !  Ugh ! 
Such  an  idea!  No,  England's  good  enough  for  me." 

Hildred  laughed  again.  She  wondered  if  the  phrase 
crystallised  the  great  article  of  Faith  in  this  neigh- 
bourhood, and  how  many  more  times  she  should  hear 
it  before  she  left  Burnaby. 

Mrs.  Ivors  was  talking  to  Sir  John,  and  Hildred 
caught  snatches  of  the  conversation.  It  was  about 
dogs  and  their  pedigrees. 

"This  chap  of  yours,"  she  heard  him  say  as  he 
playfully  buffeted  Tartar,  "is  a  horrid  mongrel, 
Harry." 

"I  know  he  is,  but  he's  affectionate  and  very 
faithful." 

"Yes,  that 's  the  only  virtue  mongrels  have,  the 
brutes." 

"A  pity  it  isn't  contagious,"  said  Hildred.  "I 
don't  think  human  mongrels  have  it." 

"Come,  come,"  said  Sir  John,  "that  's  a  cuttin' 
remark  from  a  young  lady  like  you." 

"Is  it?"  asked  Hildred,  opening  innocent  eyes. 
"  I  did  n't  mean  it  that  way." 

The  wicket-gate  opened  to  'admit  Miss  Arabella 
Lebarte  and  Dr.  Lisle. 

"  Derived  from  dog,"  Hildred  murmured.  "Excuse 
me,  I  must  go  to  meet  Miss  Lebarte." 

With  a  sense  of  relief  she  flew  off  round  the  curve  of 
the  little  drive,  leaving  Lady  Waveney  once  and  for 
all  confirmed  in  her  belief  in  the  girl's  eccentricity. 


The  Tennis  Party  101 

"Well,  have  you  got  the  prize? "she  cried  as  she 
caught  Arab  Lebarte  by  the  hand  and  smiled  up  at 
her. 

"My  dear  girl,  the  result  won't  be  out  for  a  fort- 
night." 

Hildred's  face  fell.  ' '  How  horribly  slow !  I  thought 
they  would  have  told  you  at  once." 

"Competitions  teach  you  patience,  if  nothing  else," 
said  Arab  with  a  resigned  smile. 

"And  in  a  desert  island  like  this,"  put  in  Dr.  Lisle, 
"you  Ve  got  to  be  thankful  for  a  fortnightly  post." 

"A  desert  island,  Dr.  Lisle!  Come  now,  that  's 
a  little  too  bad,"  said  Miss  Arab  archly. 

"Well,  I  withdraw  desert,  then.  That 's  the  worst 
of  talking  to  you  clever  people.  You  are  always  so 
keen  on  accuracy.  Now,  if  I  wanted  to  express  the 
essence  of  solitude  by  saying  that  I  was  alone  in  a 
crowd,  you  would  tell  me  that  it  was  not  solitude 
really  because  I  was  surrounded  by  people." 

"  I  certainly  should.  How  well  you  understand  me, 
Dr.  Lisle." 

Hildred  looked  at  her  with  a  swift  pity.  She  wore 
a  mauve  linen  gown  which  seemed  to  accentuate  her 
hard  brightness,  and  she  swung  her  racquet  restlessly 
to  and  fro  as  she  spoke. 

"But  only  those  who  see  take  off  their  shoes,"  the 
girl  quoted  softly. 

"Yes,  and  the  barefoot  craze  hasn't  yet  reached 
Burnaby,"  answered  Dr.  Lisle  in  the  same  tone. 

"Now  if  you  two  are  going  to  cap  quotations  I  'm 
off!  I  only  know  the  usual  old  tags,  and  can't  even 
quote  those  correctly."  Arab  felt  a  sense  of  emanci- 
pation to-day  which  tinged  her  with  renewed  vivacity. 


102         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

She  had  met  Dr.  Lisle  at  the  gate,  and  had  had  a 
friendly  verbal  tussle  as  to  whether  she  should  carry 
her  own  racquet  or  not,  in  which  she,  being  but  a 
foolish  virgin,  won. 

Hildred  responded  to  the  atmosphere  of  youth,  or 
approximate  youth  exhaled  by  the  two.  There  was 
a  soft  pleasure  in  the  certainty  of  comprehension  by 
the  one,  and  a  cheery  knowledge  of  appreciated  com- 
panionship in  the  other. 

They  followed  Mrs.  Ivors  and  the  Waveneys  round 
the  house  and  through  the  kitchen-garden  to  the 
tennis-ground. 

"You  two  girls  are  to  play  with  the  men  first,"  said 
Mrs.  Ivors,  "and  Laura  and  I  will  look  on.  Then  we 
shall  have  our  usual  foursome." 

Hildred  fell  to  the  lot  of  Sir  John,  whose  figure 
owned  a  shade  too  much  profile  to  permit  him  to  be 
a  really  active  tennis-player.  He  thought  it  part  of 
his  duty  to  keep  up  a  running  fire  of  chaffing  comments 
on  every  stroke,  to  which  Hildred,  unused  to  such 
give  and  take,  responded  but  briefly.  As  he  confided 
to  his  wife  afterwards: 

"  I  could  n't  get  a  word  out  of  that  girl  of  Harry's. 
Nothin'  in  her,  nothin'  at  all.  She  's  a  pretty  little 
thing  enough —  '  (Hildred  considered  herself  tall, 
but  it  was  Sir  John's  way  to  speak  of  all  girls  as  little 
unless  they  were  positive  giantesses!) — "but  if  she 
has  only  her  smile  and  complexion  to  go  on  they  won't 
carry  her  far.  No  sense  of  humour  either — can't  see 
a  joke  that  even  a  baby  would  laugh  at.  Does  n't 
take  after  old  Harry  in  any  way.  Suppose  she  's  dull 
like  the  painter  chap,  eh?" 

But  to  Mrs.Ivors's  carefully  concealed  pride  Hildred 


The  Tennis  Party  103 

played  what  Sir  John  called  "a  rippin'  game  of 
tennis,"  a  game  which  should  go  far  towards  aton- 
ing for  her  golfing  deficiencies  in  a  family  of  games 
enthusiasts. 

Sir  John  was  a  little  hot  and  begged  for  a  moment's 
grace  before  a  fresh  game  was  started.  Mrs.  Ivors, 
whose  energy  required  outlet,  began  to  practise  serving 
to  Dr.  Lisle. 

"Lisle  's  an  active  little  chap,"  said  Sir  John, 
mopping  his  forehead.  "Ought  to  be  with  that 
figure." 

"Rather  like  a  monkey,  don't  you  think?"  put  in 
Lady  Waveney. 

"No,  I  don't,"  replied  Hildred,  to  whom  the  remark 
was  addressed,  hating  the  discussion.  "There's 
nothing  in  the  least  like  a  monkey  about  him,  except 
perhaps  his  eyes." 

"His  light  blue  eyes?  I  never  saw  a  monkey  with 
blue  eyes,"  ejaculated  Lady  Waveney,  while  Arab, 
mute,  plucked  tufts  of  grass  from  the  bank  on  which 
they  sat. 

"Not  the  colour,  the  expression."  Hildred  felt 
impelled  to  elucidate  her  thought.  "A  monkey's 
eyes  have  always  a  wistful  half-human  expression  in 
them,  and  Dr.  Lisle's  eyes,  to  carry  out  the  analogy 
on  a  higher  plane,  have  always  a  wistful,  half -spiritual 
expression." 

"Has  any  one  a  dictionary?"  asked  Sir  John, 
humorously,  "I  haven't  heard  so  many  long  words 
since  I  was  a  schoolboy."  He  still  tried  to  chaff 
Harry's  little  girl ;  he  had  a  tenacious  mind,  and  one 
of  his  fixed  beliefs  was  that  all  "young  'uns"  as  he 
called  them,  liked  chaff. 


104         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

Hildred  reddened.  She  had  stupidly  drawn  aside 
a  corner  of  her  veil  of  reticence  and  their  coarse  fingers 
had  torn  it. 

"Come  on,  Jack.  You  must  be  cool  enough  now," 
said  his  wife.  "I  'm  getting  cramped  from  sitting 
still  so  long." 

When  they  were  out  of  hearing  Hildred  turned  on 
a  wave  of  indignation  to  Arab,  sure  of  sympathy. 

"Oh,  these  people  with  their  inert  minds  and  their 
restless  bodies!"  she  cried.  "I  can't  bear  them,  can 
you?" 

"Oh,  well,  the  Waveneys  are  really  very  nice," 
murmured  Arab.  "They  give  delightful  tennis- 
parties,  and  Standish  Court  is  a  lovely  old  place." 

To  speak  disparagingly  of  the  Waveneys  implied 
more  courage  than  Arabella  Lebarte  possessed.  The 
Waveneys  were — well,  the  Waveneys,  and  Standish 
Court  was — Standish  Court.  There  was  nothing 
within  a  fifteen-mile  radius  to  compare  with  them, 
and,  if  there  had  been,  comparisons  in  such  a  case 
would  have  been  more  than  odious;  they  would  have 
been  almost  sacrilegious. 

Hildred,  of  course,  could  not  understand;  she  was 
imbued  with  queer  foreign  notions;  she  had  been 
brought  up  outside  the  pale  of  the  Waveney  tradition, 
the  centuries-old  tradition  of  race.  There  had  always 
been  a  Sir  John  Waveney  since  Norman  William,  and 
in  the  Domesday  Book 

No,  Hildred  could  not  realise  the  daring  even  of 
Arab's  qualified  statement  as  regarded  the  Waveneys' 
niceness.  Had  it  not  been  for  the  monkey  comparison 
she  would  have  fluttered  the  Waveney  banner  in  the 
face  of  all  comers. 


The  Tennis  Party  105 

"I'm  sorry,"  said  Hildred,  cooling  as  quickly  as 
she  had  warmed,  and  withdrawing  once  more  into 
her  shell.  "Of  course,  that's  all  that  matters — in 
the  country." 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  CAGE  OF  DREAMS 

SO  Hildred  slid  into  her  groove  and  the  summer 
became  a  certainty  of  warm  days  and  star- 
jewelled  nights,  chequered  occasionally  by  brief 
thunder-storms,  and  the  benediction  of  the  rain. 

Mrs.  Ivors  took  her  to  the  Standish  Tennis  Club, 
where  she  became  popular  in  her  quiet  way — friendly 
to  all,  yet  in  the  inner  sense  of  the  word  friends  with 
none,  except  Arab  Lebarte  and  Dr.  Lisle. 

Standish  Court  with  its  immemorial  elms,  its  carp- 
pond,  and  its  yew-garden  delighted  her,  but  to  study 
its  treasures  and  play  with  her  small  cousins  pleased 
her  better  than  to  spend  much  time  in  the  society  of 
their  parents. 

She  went  for  walks  with  the  dogs,  she  helped  Kather- 
ine  when  permitted,  and  she  made  a  real  and  beautiful 
little  bit  of  garden  for  the  joy  of  her  soul.  The  larch- 
wood  was  her  favourite  retreat;  she  often  sat  among 
their  slim  pillared  stems  which  rose  straight  and  tall 
above  a  miniature  forest  of  ferns. 

Still — "Time  glides  by  and  we  grow  old  with  the 
silent  years ;  and  the  days  flee  away  and  are  restrained 
by  no  rein."  Summer  had  merged  into  September 
almost  before  Hildred  was  aware,  and  the  thought  of 

1 06 


The  Cage  of  Dreams  107 

impending  departure  filled  her  with  a  vague  uneasiness 
and  a  sense  of  unrest.  She  had  grown  used  to  the 
quiet  monotony  of  her  days,  the  little  joys,  the  little 
interests,  the  passing  amusements,  the  stimulating 
encounters  with  her  mother,  whose  habit  of  mind, 
like  flint  on  flint,  always  struck  sparks  from  her  own. 

On  a  golden  September  day  Hildred,  basket  in 
hand,  set  off  to  ask  Arab  Lebarte  to  come  black- 
berrying  with  her. 

She  found  her  in  the  garden  bending  over  a  long 
bed,  a  third  of  which  showed  brown  earth  free  from 
weeds  about  the  flower-roots  while  the  remainder 
bore  a  suspiciously  weedlike  greenness.  At  the  back 
of  the  bed  tall  Michaelmas  daisies  raised  masses  of 
white  and  purple  bloom,  which  in  their  sturdy  autumn- 
al flowering  reminded  Hildred  a  little  of  Arab  herself. 

She  lifted  a  hot  tired  face  to  the  girl. 

"No,  Hildred,  I  can't  come  blackberrying,  much  as 
I  should  like  it. " 

"Why?" 

Arab  waved  an  earthy  glove  towards  the  flower-bed. 
"Auntie  says  this  must  be  done  before  she  comes 
back,  and  as  you  see  it 's  not  half  finished  yet. " 

"What  a  task-mistress!     Can't  you  rebel?" 

Arab  straightened  herself  wearily.  "You  don't 
understand.  Let 's  sit  down  on  the  seat  under  the 
apple-tree  for  a  minute.  It 's  nice  to  rest  for  a  bit. " 

"I  understand  that  Miss  Lebarte  exacts  a  good 
deal  from  you." 

"Oh,  no,  no.  You  mustn't  say  that.  Auntie  is 
goodness  itself.  She  has  been  a  mother  to  me  since 
poor  mamma  died,  and  I  never  could  do  enough  for 
her." 


io8         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

"  It  should  n't  be  all  giving  and  all  taking, "  said 
Mildred  hotly,  remembering  her  mother's  dictum. 
"That 's  rather  a  one-sided  arrangement." 

"You  're  quite  wrong,"  said  Arab,  reddening  furi- 
ously. "  If  there  is  any  taking  it  's  on  my  side.  Poor 
papa  died  without  leaving  a  penny,  and  of  course  as 
clergymen  always  marry  paupers,  poor  mamma 
had  n't  a  farthing,  so  except  for  the  few  shillings  I 
make  by  my  competitions  I  am  dependent  on  auntie 
for  everything,  everything.  Only  for  her  I  should  be 
one  of  the  miserable  incapables  who  drudge  along  as 
nursery  governesses  or  mothers'  helps,  for  I  was  trained 
for  nothing  and  had  n't  much  education  anyhow. 
Marriage  was  the  only  career  open  to  me,  and  except 
in  penny  novelettes  people  don't  wish  to  marry  pauper 
orphans!" 

Hildred  was  mute,  shocked  to  silence  by  the  sudden 
pitiful  outburst.  She  had  no  words,  but  she  squeezed 
the  earthy  gloved  hands  which  lay  on  Arab's  lap. 

"I  should  have  loved  a  home  of  my  own,"  Arab 
continued,  words  tumbling  out  through  the  seldom- 
opened  flood-gates.  "Good  and  kind  as  auntie  is, 
it 's  not  the  same.  A  home  which  I  could  have  made 
pretty,  which  I  could  have  ordered  well,  and  where  I 
could  have  tried  all  sorts  of  experiments;  where  I  had 
some  independence,  where  there  was  no  necessity  to 
give  an  account  of  my  comings  and  goings,  and  an 
accurate  description  of  all  my  movements,  except 
when  I  cared  to,  to  a — a  person  who  would  be  in- 
terested just  because  they  were  my  movements,  and 
not  because  I  might  have  been  doing  something  foolish. 
I  'd  like  to  do  something  foolish,  just  for  a  change. 
I  'm  tired,  deadly  tired,  of  always  being  sensible, 


The  Cage  of  Dreams  109 

always  doing  and  saying  the  right,  the  expected  thing ! 
I  've  often  envied  you  your  powers  of  speech " 

"Me?"  cried  Hildred. 

"  Yes,  you.  Clever,  thoughtful,  original  things  seem 
just  to  slip  off  your  tongue  without  an  effort.  You 
have  the  courage  of  your  ideas,  and  the  self-confidence 
to  give  vent  to  them,  while  I,  even  if  I  think  the  things, 
have  neither  the  pluck  nor  the  wit  to  say  them.  I  can 
listen  and  envy  and  agree.  I  could  even  write  them 
perhaps,  but  when  I  want  the  golden  tongue  of 
Chrysostom,  I  am  dumb,  dumb  as  the  man  possessed 
by  a  devil." 

"Poor  Arab!     I  never  guessed  you  felt  like  that." 

"  Of  course  you  did  n't.  Nobody  does,  and  nobody 
ever  will.  I  don't  either,  as  a  rule,  only  somehow  to- 
day it  all  came  over  me  in  a  rush,  and  I  feel  that  I  could 
fall  down  and  worship  and  kiss  the  feet  of  the  man 
who  would  come  like  a  knight  of  old  romance  and 
rescue  me  from  the  dragons  of  my  own  narrowness 
and  stupidity."  She  paused,  breathless,  borne  on 
the  wings  of  her  rebellion  with  a  flight  that  brought  a 
carmine  flush  to  her  cheeks,  an  inspired  light  to  her 
eyes.  For  the  moment  she  looked  brilliant,  vivid  to 
amazement.  One  could  believe  that  no  man  need 
want  the  spur  of  chivalry  to  send  him,  hot-foot,  to  her 
capture.  Then  the  light  faded;  the  flame  died. 
Here  was  no  Brunhild  in  her  ring  of  fire,  but  Arab 
Lebarte,  an  unsought  woman  of  thirty-five,  her  age 
written  in  her  fixed  complexion  and  every  tell-tale 
line. 

Her  voice  went  on,  almost  monotonous  now  in  its 
low  intensity,  as  if  she  had  dropped  from  the  heights 
to  the  plains  of  reality ;  her  eyes  were  fixed  as  on  some 


1 10        The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

vision  of  her  own  summoning.  Hildred  thought  of 
her  mother's  horizon  metaphor. 

"  I  could  love  him,  worship  him,  work  for  him.  My 
best  would  be  too  poor  for  him.  I  'd  work  my  fingers 
to  the  bone,  and  follow  him  barefoot  round  the  world 
if  he  desired  it — "  a  low  sob  shook  her  voice  and 
warned  Hildred  that  she  was  losing  control. 

She  flung  a  dash  of  Mrs.  Ivors's  common-sense, 
cold-water-like,  upon  the  trembling  warmth  of  the 
words. 

"It  would  be  much  more  sensible  if  you  stayed  at 
home  and  darned  his  stockings. " 

Arab  essayed  a  laugh — a  quivering  effort. 

"How  I  'd  love  to  darn  his  stockings!"  she  said 
dreamily. 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  we  are  getting  a  little  mixed 
in  our  metaphors,"  Hildred  put  in  briskly,  her  heart 
swelling  with  sympathy,  but  her  generous  impulses 
warning  her  to  prevent  Arab  from  making  an  admis- 
sion she  might  regret  later.  "  Did  knights  of  old  wear 
stockings,  I  wonder?  We  really  must  stick  to  one 
period  for  our  imaginary  hero  and  clothe  him  accord- 
ingly. Dear  Arab,  I  understand — "  she  leaned  over 
and  kissed  her  cheek  softly.  "How  I  wish  I  could 
see  him  come  riding  over  the  brow  of  the  hill!" 

"That's  a  sight  you'll  never  see,"  said  Arab 
brusquely,  rising  and  shaking  the  earth  from  her  lap. 
"Please  forget  all  the  rubbish  I  've  been  talking, 
Hildred.  That 's  the  worst  of  you  sympathetic  people, 
you  tempt  others  to  make  fools  of  themselves.  I 
generally  keep  my  dreams  shut  up  in  a  cage,  but  you 
somehow  opened  the  door  and  let  them  out. " 

"They'll  fly  back  again.     That  is  the  beauty  of 


The  Cage  of  Dreams  in 

one  's  own  dreams;  they  couldn't  be  happy  with  any 
one  else." 

"  Do  they  make  one  happy  or  unhappy,  I  wonder?" 

'"Work   grows   fair   through   starry   dreaming,'' 
quoted  Hildred. 

"There  you  are!"  cried  Arab,  fondly  envious, 
"saying  just  the  right,  but  not  the  obvious  thing. 
'Work  grows  fair  through  starry  dreaming.'  Yes. 
Let  's  put  it  into  practice  and  see  if  my  starry  dreams 
will  help  me  to  weed  that  bed. "  She  struck  her  hands 
together,  shaking  off  the  caked  earth. 

"Let  me  help  you." 

"Certainly  not.  I  must  do  penance  for  my  wild, 
ungrateful,  indelicate  talk.  After  all,  life,  which  must 
be  lived,  is  prose.  Dreams  which  come  but  rarely  are 
poetry — useless  frippery,  as  your  mother  would  say. 
There  are  no  heroes  nowadays,  only  common-place, 
ordinary  men  who  get  colds  in  their  heads  and  sniff 
unromantically. "  Her  eyes  gazed  with  a  veiled 
brightness  at  the  old  horizon.  "Well,  I  'd  wash  his 
pocket-handkerchiefs,"  she  said  defiantly. 

Hildred  swung  her  basket  to  and  fro.  "Devotion 
could  go  no  farther,"  she  laughed.  "But  don't  let 
him  know  all  that  beforehand." 

Arab  darted  a  suspicious  glance  at  her  which  fell 
harmlessly  off  the  mask  of  Hildred's  unconsciousness. 

Don't  let  who  know?" 

"The  catarrhal  hero,"  she  returned  with  deliberate 
lightness.  "The  not  impossible  he,  whoe'er  he  be. 
Katherine  has  a  proverb — 'Keep  the  bone  and  the 
dog  will  follow  you. ' ' 

"You  may  keep  the  bone  so  long  that  the  dog  won't 
want  to  follow  you, "  said  Arab,  with  a  ring  of  the  old 


ii2         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

hidden  bitterness.  "What  is  one  to  do  then?  Bury 
it  decently,  I  suppose,  and  say  no  more  about  it.  Ugh ! 
how  horribly  vulgar  we  are!  Why  do  you  tempt  me 
to  such  unladylike  freedom  of  speech,  Hildred?" 

"I  don't  think  I  said  very  much." 

"Your  silence  then — silence  is  provocative.  It 
makes  you  want  to  hurl  words  about — words  which 
you  may  regret  bitterly  afterwards." 

"I  don't  think  you  need  regret  anything  you  've 
said  to  me  to-day.  It  shall  go  no  farther  than  this 
bench.  Even  the  apple-tree  is  bribing  me  to  silence, " 
she  said,  trying  to  lighten  the  tension,  as  a  rosy  peach- 
apple  dropped  into  her  lap. 

The  September  sky  shone  blue  through  the  yellow- 
ing leaves,  and  the  apples  against  it  looked  like  jewels 
set  in  a  green-gold  tracery. 

Arab  had  one  of  her  rare  moments  of  softening. 

"I  don't  think  I  shall  regret  it,"  she  said,  looking  at 
the  girl  with  an  expression  in  which  warring  emotions 
stirred  and  strove.  "  O  sweet  and  twenty,  O  little  Eve, 
has  n't  your  Apple  of  Wisdom  told  you  of  the  terrible 
handicap  of  years?" 

Hildred  was  puzzled.     "I  don't  understand  you.'' 

"You  will  some  day, "  returned  Arab,  enigmatically. 
"Until  you  came  I  did  n't  understand  myself.  How- 
ever, Katherine  has  another  saying :  '  Keep  your  own 
doorstep  clean,  and  you  need  n't  bother  about  any 
one  else's. ' ' 

"Which  is  a  polite  way  of  telling  me  to  mind  my 
own  business." 

"No,  it  is  n't.  It 's  an  apt  illustration  of  my  own 
life.  My  doorstep  is  spotlessly,  respectably  clean, 
but  no  one  but  you  has  any  idea  of  what 's  inside. " 


The  Cage  of  Dreams  1 13 

"  It 's  a  garden — a  garden  full  of  good  impulses  and 
unselfishness." 

' '  A  garden  full  of  weeds. ' ' 

"Who  ever  saw  a  garden  without  them?  And  if 
there  are  a  few,  why,  you  're  an  expert  weeder, 
Arab." 

"Oh,  go  away.  If  you  say  any  more  soft  things  to 
me  I  shall  cry  and  look  a  sight  when  auntie  comes  in, 
and  I  shan't  be  able  to  give  any  satisfactory  explana- 
tion." 

"Say  I  beat  you, "  Hildred  suggested,  "because  you 
beat  me  at  tennis  yesterday." 

"Do  you  want  an  earthy  embrace?"  asked  Arab. 
"Because  if  you  don't  I  advise  you  to  go." 

"I  certainly  don't.  You  know  I  'm  not  a  really 
kissy  person." 

"I  know  you  're  not,  thank  Heaven!"  cried  Arab, 
as  she  sank  emblematically  on  her  knees  before  a  great 
clump  of  golden-rod. 


CHAPTER  X 

WILD  FRUIT 

HILDRED'S   eyes   shone   as   she   left   the    Hill- 
side garden,  and  skirting  the  village  took  a  de- 
tour through  lane  and  field  towards  the  larch- wood,  by 
whose  stream  the  best  and  biggest  blackberries  grew. 

She  felt  moved  out  of  her  young  quietude  by  Arab's 
outburst.  To  come  face  to  face  with  passion,  even 
though  unexpressed,  is  one  of  the  experiences  which 
teaches,  and  it  was  strangely  disturbing  to  see  love, 
unsought,  peering  from  the  eyes  of  a  woman  who,  one 
had  thought,  had  long  since  ceased  to  seek  its  reflection 
in  other  eyes. 

Love,  in  personal  guise,  had  not  as  yet  touched 
Hildred.  She  had  her  dreams,  of  course,  the  in- 
tangible, rainbow-winged  dreams  of  youth,  but  they 
had  not  materialised  farther  than  man  in  the  abstract ; 
a  possible  vision  of  glorified  comradeship,  which  her 
modern  upbringing  had  taught  her  to  relegate  to  its 
proper  place  in  the  scheme  of  things.  She  did  not 
regard  marriage,  as  Arab  did,  as  the  crock  of  gold  at 
the  rainbow's  foot,  to  be  eagerly  sought  for  in  the  hope 
that  when  found  it  would  be  a  talisman  to  turn  the 
whole  world  to  a  garden  of  roses  lit  perennially  by  a 
golden  honeymoon! 

114 


Wild  Fruit  115 

Her  sole  acquaintance  with  married  life,  or  half  of  it, 
had  taught  her  an  early  and  enforced  wisdom.  "  Mar- 
riage lasts  longer  than  the  honeymoon  "  was  a  favour- 
ite comment  of  Katherine's  on  the  honourable  estate, 
and  if  its  light  and  shade  were  never  to  chequer  her 
life  she  would  not  write  herself  down  a  failure,  as  Arab 
Lebarte  was  prone  to  do  in  the  bitterness  of  her 
soul. 

She  was  young,  she  wanted  to  look  into  Life's  mirror, 
to  drink  deep  of  Life's  cup  before  she  ventured  on  the 
great  experiment,  if  Fate  ever  gave  her  the  chance. 

She  took  off  her  hat  as  she  walked  through  the  field 
towards  the  gap — the  field  where  now  she  gathered 
morning  mushrooms  instead  of  magic  dew — and  the 
afternoon  sun  fell  full  on  her  fair  hair  and  touched  it 
with  glints  of  brightness.  The  year  was  spinning 
slowly  and  goldenly  towards  its  close,  scarcely  con- 
scious as  yet  of  having  left  the  valley  of  summer  to 
rise  towards  the  bare  austerities  of  winter. 

The  girl  sang  softly  as  she  looked  at  the  distant  blue 
hills,  dismissing  the  thought  of  Arab's  self-revelation 
with  a  feeling  that  was  half -shock,  half -pity.  She  had 
no  yearning  to  play  with  fire,  perhaps  to  scorch  herself 
in  undesired  flames.  She  wanted  to  live  her  own  life 
untrammelled,  impatient,  as  youth  ever  is,  of  restraint ; 
too  young  and  inexperienced  to  realise  that  the  chains 
of  self,  of  character,  of  temperament,  invisible  as 
gossamer  though  they  be,  can  bind  and  fetter  closer 
than  bonds  of  steel. 

It  was  in  this  mood  that  Dr.  Lisle  found  her,  as  he 
came  up  the  path  which  led  from  the  valley,  and  met 
her  descending  through  the  wood.  He  was  in  riding 
attire,  and  he  did  not  look  at  all  surprised  to  see  her  as 


n6         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

he  sauntered  along,  tapping  his  gaiter  with  his  riding- 
switch. 

Hildred  stopped  when  she  saw  him.  Was  it  that 
her  eyes  were  newly  opened,  or  did  a  subdued  radiance 
light  his  thin  brown  face?  He  looked  trim,  alert, 
purposeful  as  he  came  forward  and  took  her  hand  and 
his  eyes  shone. 

"  I  've  been  to  a  distant  corner  of  my  kingdom  usher- 
ing a  new  life  into  this  queer  old  world,"  he  said. 
"  Since  then  I  've  been  to  church  in  your  wood,  where, 
from  information  received,  I  thought  I  should  find 
you." 

"Katherine?" 

"You  must  not  try  to  tap  my  sources  of  private 
information."  He  took  the  basket  from  Hildred's 
hand,  and  something  new  in  the  glance  of  his  blue  eyes 
brought  the  ready  flush  racing  to  her  cheek. 

She  rushed  into  speech.  "  I  went  to  Hillside  to  see 
if  Arab  Lebarte  could  come  blackberrying  with  me, 
but  she  could  n't. " 

"I'm  very  glad." 

With  Arab's  outburst  fresh  in  her  memory  Hildred 
gave  a  little  embarrassed  laugh. 

"That  doesn't  sound  quite  kind,"  she  murmured. 

"It  is — to  me,"  he  returned  quietly.  "I  hate  a 
three-cornered  conversation,  and  so  do  you,  if  you 
would  only  admit  it. " 

"We  have  had  a  good  many  of  them. " 

"Are  they  stamped  on  your  memory  in  letters  of 
gold?  You  know  they  're  not.  I  know  how  to  appre- 
ciate a  solitude  of  two  when  I  get  it.  Come  down  into 
the  wood  and  talk  to  me.  I  never  see  you  alone.  If 
your  mother  is  n't  there,  Arab  Lebarte  is,  or  some  one 


Wild  Fruit  117 

to  make  the  unnecessary  triangle.  I  can't  talk  to 
several  people  at  a  time,  can  you?" 

"No,"  Mildred  admitted,  her  hand  resting  against 
the  grey  trunk  of  a  beech,  round  whose  roots  sprang 
up  innumerable  saplings  whose  young  green  gave  an 
illusion  of  spring. 

It  seemed  to  Dr.  Lisle  as  he  looked  at  the  slender 
figure  with  its  leafy  background  that  here  was  the 
spirit  of  the  almond-tree  as  he  had  seen  it  materialised 
on  that  unforgotten  May  morning.  His  heart  gave  a 
great  leap;  he  seemed  to  hear  the  cuckoo  calling; 
to  feel  youth  and  life  and  spring  riot  in  his  veins, 
to  thrill  to  the  faint  far  echo  of  the  pipes  of  Pan,  the 
call  of  Nature,  who  supplies  her  own  answer  to  the 
eternal  question. 

He  gave  no  sign  of  the  rushing  impulses  within  him 
as  he  stood  there  still  tapping  his  switch,  his  eyes  on 
the  down-bent  glowing  face.  The  silence  was  scarcely 
marked  before  he  spoke,  as  a  yellowing  leaf  drifted 
slowly  down  on  Hildred's  hair. 

"There  's  a  fallen  fir- tree  near  the  stream,  which 
makes  a  throne  fit  for  a  queen.  I  will  enthrone  you 
there  and  feed  you  with  'apricocks  and  dewberries,' 
or  their  equivalent  in  blackberries  and  wild  straw- 
berries. Will  you  come?" 

There  was  something  in  the  tone  of  his  question 
which  set  Hildred's  pulses  racing,  but  with  an  effort 
she  shook  off  her  unaccustomed  embarrassment,  and 
caught  at  an  answerable  phrase. 

"Wild  strawberries?  I  did  not  think  that  there 
were  any  so  late  as  this." 

"  I  found  a  patch  of  them  near  a  mossy  boulder,  but 
I  did  n't  pick  any.  I  wanted  to  share  them  with  you. " 


ii8         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

"  To  share  them  with  me?     How  generous  of  you ! " 

"How  selfish,  you  mean.  Things  shared  have  a 
savour  that  solitary  pleasures  never  possess.  Don't 
you  think  so?" 

"It  all  depends  on  whom  you  share  them  with," 
returned  Hildred,  with  a  touch  of  her  mother's 
directness. 

Dr.  Lisle  laughed.  "There  is  no  question  of  the 
added  savour  in  this  case,  then.  I  was  well  justified 
in  my  action. " 

"How  did  you  know  I  should  come?" 

"All  things  come  to  him  who  knows  how  to  wait." 

"Do  you  know  how  to  wait?"  asked  Hildred. 

"  It  is  the  one  art  in  which  I  am  really  proficient, "  he 
answered,  with  a  very  direct  glance.  A  sense  of  his 
inner  excitement  tingled  unaware  through  the  quiet 
words. 

Hildred  followed  him  in  silence  as  he  led  the  way 
down  the  winding  path,  holding  aside  bramble  and 
sapling  from  contact  with  her  until  they  came  to  the 
fallen  fir  whose  rough  red  trunk  lay  across  a  carpet  of 
dry  scented  needles. 

It  was  a  mute  month  for  birds;  only  an  occasional 
chirp,  or  the  dropping  of  leaf  or  twig  broke  the  wood- 
stillness. 

"Sit  there,"  commanded  Dr.  Lisle,  "and  I  will 
make  a  feast  for  you." 

Hildred  sat  down  on  the  trunk,  and  folded  her  hands 
in  her  lap.  A  new  spirit  of  gaiety  suddenly  seized  her. 
It  was  good  to  be  young,  good  to  be  alive,  good  to 
have  a  friend  like  this,  who  cared,  as  poor  Arab  had 
said,  whether  she  came  or  went.  Dr.  Lisle  was  right. 
A  solitude  of  two  was  a  solitude  to  be  appreciated. 


Wild  Fruit  119 

She  felt  a  wave  of  agreement  with  all  the  old  saws 
which  proved  the  point  as  she  looked  at  him  with  a 
little  smile. 

"I,  too,  know  how  to  wait. " 

He  shot  a  swift  glance  at  her,  and  shook  his  head. 

"  Not  as  I  do.     You  're  too  young  yet. " 

"We  shan't  quarrel  about  it.  I  bow  to  your 
superiority — of  years."  They  both  laughed.  Dr. 
Lisle's  mood  was  infectious  to-day. 

He  moved  quickly  here  and  there,  vanishing  for  a 
moment  among  the  trees,  returning  to  arrange  his 
feast  on  the  far  side  of  the  fir 

"You  must  n't  look  until  I  give  you  leave. " 

"Not  even  a  peep?" 

"  Not  even  a  peep. "  He  paused  and  looked  at  her. 
"  Don't  you  like  my  cheek  in  ordering  you  about? " 

"I  think  I  do,"  she  said,  her  eyes  on  the  pine- 
needles.  "  It  makes  me  feel " 

"Feel  what?"  he  asked,  coming  closer. 

Hildred  drew  back  slightly. 

"  It  makes  me  feel  as  if  I  were  young  again  and  back 
with  my  cousins  who  exacted  implicit  obedience. " 

"  Did  you  live  in  your  youth  with  cousins?" 

"Yes.     Did  n't  you  know ? ' ' 

Dr.  Lisle  shook  his  head.  "You  shall  tell  me  later. 
I  'd  like  to  know  about  the  child  you,  everything 
about  you — "  he  stopped  abruptly,  and  turned 
away.  In  a  moment  he  came  back  and  dropped  on 
one  knee  before  her. 

"Her  Majesty  is  served,"  he  said,  bowing  his 
head. 

Hildred  rose  and  went  to  the  other  side  of  the  fir- 
trunk.  A  broad  mossy  stone  as  table  bore  a  yellow 


I2O         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

frond  of  bracken  heaped  high  with  purple  blackberries, 
while  two  fern-leaves,  deftly  twisted,  made  a  green 
basket  for  clusters  of  rose  and  white  wild  strawberries 
plucked  on  their  own  stems.  Between  the  dryad's 
dishes  of  fruit  stood  the  narrow  silver  cup  of  a  flask, 
brimming  with  clear  water. 

Hildred  smiled  and  drew  a  breath  of  joy. 

"It  is  a  feast  fit  for  Titania!"  she  cried. 

"  It  is  a  feast  fit  for  you,  which  is  more  to  the  point, " 
he  returned,  sitting  lowly  at  her  feet.  "What  will  you 
begin  on?" 

"That  is  puzzling.     Which  do  you  recommend?" 

"  I  should  advise  the  strawberries  first, "  said  Marcus 
Lisle  gravely.  "The  blackberry  juice  will  probably 
stain  your  fingers." 

"I  can  wash  them  in  the  stream " 

"And  dry  them  with  my  silk  handkerchief."  He 
drew  the  corner  of  a  folded  white  square  from  his 
breast-pocket. 

"You must  share, "she  insisted,  holding  up  a  stem 
with  two  ripe  strawberries  on  it. 

"Yes,  if  you  will  feed  me  with  them.  Recollect 
that  I  had  all  the  trouble  of  gathering  them. " 

"I  thought  you  hinted  that  it  was  a  pleasure. " 

"One  has  to  find  reasons  for  unusual  requests." 

"Oh,  I  don't  mind  feeding  you,"  Hildred  laughed. 

"Besides,  I  have  a  constitutional  objection  to  soiling 
my  hands " 

"Enough!  Enough!"  cried  Hildred,  putting  a 
strawberry  into  his  mouth.  "One  reason  is  a  reason, 
two  or  more  turn  into  foolish  excuses. " 

"Don't  scold  me,  nymph  of  the  almond-tree.  Let 
me  eat  wild  fruit  to  my  undoing. " 


Wild  Fruit  121 

"It  is  of  your  own  plucking,  remember,"  said 
Hildred. 

He  turned  sharply.  Were  the  words  meant  as  a 
warning,  or  were  they  only  in  tune  with  his? 

The  fair  face  was  soft  and  smiling,  the  thick  fringe  of 
lashes  did  not  hide  the  kindness  of  the  grey  eyes. 
Suddenly  he  realised  how  much  this  girl  meant  to  him. 
The  nymph  of  the  almond-tree  had  stepped  from  fan- 
tasy to  solid  earth — earth  as  solid  as  is  ever  seen  in 
lover's  vision.  She  had  merged  from  dryad  to  dream- 
woman,  to  the  one  woman  in  the  world  of  the  real  and 
ideal. 

He  looked  up  at  her  again,  veiling  the  ardour  in  his 
eyes.  She  sat  above  him,  serenely  unconscious  of  her 
transformation,  yet  with  a  sweet  stirring  at  her  heart 
which  should  have  warned  her. 

"Now  it  is  time  for  the  blackberries,"  she  said, 
demurely. 

Was  ever  such  a  feast?  Every  time  the  pink  fingers 
approached  his  lips  it  seemed  to  Marcus  Lisle  like  the 
echo  of  a  caress.  Sometimes  they  softly  touched 
him  and  his  spirit  soared  in  ecstasy.  Whatever  life 
brought  hereafter  to  these  two  few  joys  could  have 
the  exquisite  evanescence,  the  uncapturable  fragrance 
of  that  fugitive  hour  in  the  wood. 

When  all  the  blackberries  were  finished  Lisle  handed 
her  the  silver  cup.  When  she  had  drunk  from  it  he 
drank  also. 

"I  wish  it  were  of  glass  that  I  might  break  it,"  he 
said  in  an  undertone. 

"Why?"  asked  Hildred  innocently. 

"So  that  no  other  lips  than  ours  should  ever  touch 
it,"  he  returned. 


122         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

Hildred  blushed  deeply  and  turned  away  to  dabble 
her  fingers  in  the  stream.  She  did  not  look  at  Dr. 
Lisle,  but  kept  her  back  to  him  as  she  played  with  the 
water,  letting  it  trickle  over  her  hands,  and  shaking 
the  drops  in  crystal  showers  from  her  pink  finger-tips. 

A  firm  step  brought  him  to  her  side. 

"  You  must  have  washed  them  sufficiently  by  this, " 
said  Marcus  Lisle.  "  Let  me  dry  them  for  you. " 

He  shook  out  the  silk  handkerchief  and  caught  the 
half-reluctant  hands  in  its  folds,  drying  them  carefully, 
finger  by  finger.  There  was  a  reverence  mingled  with 
the  sweet  intimacy  of  the  action  which  touched  while 
it  vaguely  troubled  Hildred.  She  drew  her  hands 
away. 

"What  about  your  own?"  she  asked.  "Oh, 
you  've  scratched  yourself. " 

Dr.  Lisle  examined  a  mark  or  two. 

"It 's  nothing.  I  didn't  know  the  brambles  had 
scratched  me.  You  see,  I  was  gathering  the  fruit  for 
you,"  he  said,  with  a  sudden  smile  which  lit  up  his 
whole  face. 

Hildred  turned  as  if  to  go.  "Perhaps  I  had 
better— 

"No.     Why?     Have  I  tired  you  already?" 

"Oh.no." 

"  Then  stay  and  talk  for  a  little  longer.  This  is  my 
hour.  Don't  shorten  it.  Tell  me  your  dreams." 

Hildred  sat  down  again  on  the  fir-tree,  while  Dr. 
Lisle  stretched  himself  on  the  ground  at  her  feet 
with  a  sigh  of  content.  She  patted  and  prodded 
the  red  flakes  of  the  fir-bark  in  a  sudden  access  of 
shyness. 

"  My  dreams  are  prosaic  enough, "  she  said,  turning 


Wild  Fruit  123 

her  face  so  that  he  could  only  see  the  soft  young  curve 
of  her  cheek.  "Don't  you  want  to  smoke?  You  may 
if  you  wish." 

"No,  thanks.  The  dryads  would  n't  like  it.  You 
would  hear  them  shiver  in  their  trees  if  I  dared  to 
commit  such  sacrilege."  He  touched  the  hem  of  her 
skirt  unseen.  "Tell  me  your  dreams, "  he  said  again, 
in  a  voice  which  trembled  a  little. 

Hildred  did  not  notice;  she  was  suddenly  wrapt 
in  the  cloud  of  her  own  thoughts. 

"  I  have  wanted  to  tell  you  things,  not  dreams,  ever 
since  the  day — do  you  remember  it,  I  wonder? — when 
you  showed  me  how  to  find  the  fairy  paint-brushes  in 
the  periwinkles  and  the  doves  in  the  columbines, 
and  told  me  that  it  was  your  mother  who  had  shown 
them  to  you  when  you  were  a  little  boy. " 

"I  remember." 

"No  one  ever  showed  me  those  things  when  I  was 
a  child.  Tell  me  more  about  your  mother. " 

Slowly  at  first  Marcus  Lisle  opened  his  heart  and 
spoke,  as  a  man  speaks  to  the  one  woman,  of  the  things 
which  lay  nearest  to  it.  There  was  nothing  new  in  the 
simple  story  he  told  her;  there  will  never  be  anything 
new  in  it  as  long  as  the  love  of  mother  for  children  en- 
dures, or  the  spirit  of  courage,  patience,  and  self-sacri- 
fice continues  to  animate  women.  He  told  her  how 
that  gay  young  mother,  left  with  a  meagre  income,  had 
worked  and  striven  to  support  and  educate  him  and 
his  sister;  how  when  the  worst  of  the  struggle  was 
over,  when  he  was  earning  enough  money  by  teaching 
to  help  himself  through  college,  and  when  his  sister  was 
trained  as  a  nurse,  a  sudden  chill  had  attacked  the 
delicate  frame  which  had  withstood  so  much  at  need, 


124         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

and  taken  the  mother  from  the  two  who  could  now 
begin  to  repay  her  in  more  than  love. 

"And  your  sister?"  asked  Hildred  softly. 

"  She  married  a  Dr.  Marston  with  a  big  poor  practice 
in  Birmingham.  When  I  was  qualified  I  went  to  him 
as  assistant,  and  learned  chiefly  how  little  I  knew  of 
life  or  anything  else.  Then  he  died,  worn  out  from  a 
typhoid  epidemic,  poor  chap,  and  left  me  enough 
money  to  buy  this  practice;  and  Marion,  who  had  no 
children  of  her  own,  started  a  Children's  Hospital 
in  Surrey,  of  which  she  is  still  the  matron. " 

"Ah,  but  you  had  a  home.  You  had  a  happy 
childhood  in  spite  of  poverty,"  breathed  Hildred, 
answering  her  own  thoughts  rather  than  his  words. 

Marcus  Lisle  looked  up  startled. 

"Yes,  I  certainly  had.     Had  n't  you?" 

"I — oh,  I  don't  know.  I  thought  I  had  at  the 
time,  but — but  that  isn't  all  that  matters."  She 
paused  for  a  moment  on  the  edge  of  confidence,  then 
plunged.  "Dr.  Lisle,  I  don't  know  how  much  or 
how  little  of  our  affairs  is  known  to  you.  I  don't 
know  what  my  mother  has  told  people,  or  what  she 
wishes  left  unsaid.  I  never  had  the  courage  to  ask 
her,  but  I  don't  want  to  tell  anything  that  she  does  n't 
wish  to  be  known." 

"Your  mother  has  told  me  that  she  and  your 
father  agreed  long  ago  to  separate  and  live  their  own 
lives  in  their  own  way,  and  that  you —  "  his  tone 
changed  and  softened — "were  finishing  your  education 
on  the  Continent  in  accordance  with  their  wishes. " 

"Then  I  can  betray  no  confidences,  for  that  is  all 
I  know  myself."  Her  cheeks  burned;  her  energy 
quickened;  she  plucked  flakes  from  the  tree- trunk 


Wild  Fruit  125 

feverishly.  "  Dr.  Lisle,  I  never  saw  my  mother  that 
I  can  remember  until  I  came  to  Burnaby." 

Dr.  Lisle  pulled  his  cap  over  his  eyes,  and  turned 
on  his  elbow.  "Yes?"  he  returned  quietly,  as  if  he 
heard  such  startling  announcements  every  day  of  his 
life. 

Hildred  felt  relieved  at  his  calm  acceptance  of  her 
statement,  and  continued  in  jerky,  broken  sentences 
which  left  a  good  deal  to  the  hearer's  imagination. 

"I  spent  my  childhood  with  two  elderly  cousins  at 
Wilmerhurst.  .  .  .  Such  an  ordered  life,  placid, 
conventional.  ...  I  accepted  things  as  they  came. 
I  was  very  incurious.  I  led  the  ordinary  school- 
life,  select  and  expensive.  The  cousins  were  very 
kind  in  the  holidays.  I — suppose — I  missed  nothing 
at  the  time.  I  had  a  year  in  Germany,  in  France,  in 
Italy,  and  last  spring  an  expectation  of  settling  down 
for  the  summer  at  Wilmerhurst  before  I —  Then  came 
the  bombshell. " 

"What  bombshell?" 

"  Coming  here.  I  was  quite  frightened  beforehand. 
It  shattered  all  my  plans  and  hopes  for  the  present." 

"Your  plans  and  hopes,  then,  had  nothing  to  do 
with  Burnaby?" 

"Of  course  not,"  answered  Hildred  with  uncon- 
scious cruelty.  "When  I  leave  this " 

"Are  you  going  away?"  He  caught  the  fragment 
of  skirt  which  brushed  across  his  hand  as  if  with  such 
light  capture  he  could  prevent  her  flight. 

"  Yes.     Did  n't  you  know? " 

"  No. "     All  the  brightness  had  faded  from  his  tone. 

"When  I  leave  Burnaby  next  month " 

"So  soon?" 


126         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

"Yes,"  she  answered  gently,  trying  to  keep  out  of 
her  words  the  absurd  pang  she  felt  at  the  thought  of 
going  away.  "When  I  leave  Burnaby  next  month 
I  am  to  prepare  to  spend  the  winter  in  Egypt  with 
my  father. " 

"And  then?" 

"And  then  I  am  to  choose  what  I  shall  do." 

"You  have  a  choice?" 

"Like  Portia's  suitors,  three."  She  tried  to  speak 
lightly,  but  the  tonelessness  of  Dr.  Lisle's  voice  awoke 
in  her  the  ridiculous  fancy  that  she  had  inadvertently 
killed  the  joy  of  the  woodland  hour.  "I  am  to  live 
with  my  mother,  or  my  father,  or  choose  a  career  for 
myself." 

"Of  course  you  can  make  no  decision  as  yet." 

"Of  course  not.  If  my  father  really  needs  me  I 
may  feel  that  I  ought  to  stay  with  him. " 

"Does  that  mean  that  Burnaby  is  out  of  the 
running?"  Dr.  Lisle's  cap  blotted  out  his  present 
surroundings,  but  it  was  sufficiently  transparent  to 
enable  him  to  see  his  dreams,  one  by  one,  taking  flight. 

"Quite,"  said  Hildred  with  unnecessary  emphasis. 

"You  could  n't  make  up  your  mind  to  stay  here  in 
any  case?" 

"  I  must  go  to  Egypt  first. " 

"But  afterwards?"  he  queried  softly.  He  had 
gathered  together  quite  a  respectable  pile  of  fir-needles. 
It  appeared  to  be  an  absorbing  occupation;  it  looked 
almost  as  if  he  were  burying  something  under  them. 
Perhaps  he  was.  Who  knows? 

Hildred  rushed  into  unconsidered  speech.  It  seemed 
as  if  she  were  trying  to  convince  herself  as  well  as  her 
hearer,  and  in  consequence  she  became  over- vehement. 


Wild  Fruit  127 

"Oh,  Dr.  Lisle,  can  you  imagine  it?  I  should  be 
miserable  here.  It  is  all  very  well  to  be  here  as  a 
visitor  in  the  summer,  to  have  people  kind  enough  to 
help  to  amuse  one,  but  for  one's  life!  It  would  choke 
me,  stifle  me!  What  could  I  do?  How  could  I  fill 
my  days?  How  keep  my  mind  alive  in  a  place  where 
nobody  talks  of  anything  but  games,  and  people's 
only  mental  recreation  is  to  criticise  their  neighbours. " 

Dr.  Lisle  placed  a  dry  little  cone  on  the  top  of  his 
mound. 

"And  so  you  were  miserable  here?"  he  asserted 
softly. 

Hildred  flushed  deeper,  half-ashamed  of  her  out- 
burst. "Oh,  no,  I  did  n't  mean  that." 

"And  you  found  no  one  congenial  in  Burnaby?" 
he  persisted. 

"  I  did  n't  mean  that  either.     You  know  I  did  n't." 

"How  do  I  know?"  he  asked,  looking  up  quickly 
and  scattering  his  mound  of  fir-needles. 

"  Because  I  found  you"  she  answered  frankly,  laying 
her  hand  for  a  moment  on  his  shoulder.  "You  are 
my  friend." 

Dr.  Lisle  jumped  up.  The  fir-needles  fled  far  and 
wide,  and  there  was  nothing  beneath  them  after  all! 

"Are  n't  you?"  asked  Hildred  shyly. 

"Your  friend,"  he  repeated  with  a  half-smile. 
"Well,  we  '11  leave  it  at  that — for  the  present.  I  've 
had  my  accolade. " 

"Do  you  consider  it  my  duty  to  stay  with  my 
mother?"  asked  Hildred  hurriedly.  "She  doesn't 
really  need  me.  She  is  perfectly  happy  as  long  as  she 
can  play  golf  or  any  kind  of  game,  and  Katherine  looks 
after  her  better  than  I  ever  could," 


128         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

"  No,  I  don't,"  answered  Dr.  Lisle  abruptly.  "  Your 
duty  is  to  wait  until  you  come  to  the  fork  in  the  roads, 
and  then  be  sure  that  you  take  the  right  one. " 

" How  shall  I  know  which  is  the  right  one?" 

"How  can  I  tell?  I  can't  preach,  but — I  think 
one's  path  lies  tolerably  clear,  even  when  one  comes 
to  a  cross-road. " 

"I  have  n't  come  to  mine  yet. " 

"No.  Your  road  at  present  goes  straight  on  after 
the  next  turning — the  October  turning.  October! 
I  shall  have  no  one  then  to  share  my  sylvan  feasts. 
My  literal  red-letter  days  will  be  post  days. " 

"Post  days?"  Hildred  echoed. 

"Yes.  You  write  to  your  friends,  don't  you?" 
he  asked  quickly. 

"Sometimes." 

"Will  you  write  to  me?" 

"Yes,  if  you  wish." 

"I  do  wish  it,"  he  returned  gravely.  "Friendship 
to  me  means  no  light  thing. " 

"  Nor  to  me, "  she  put  in  quickly. 

"Friendship  with  you,"  he  began  and  stopped. 
"You  won't  forget  to-day,  will  you?" 

"No." 

"Nor  I."  Something  stronger  than  truth,  some- 
thing deeper  than  sincerity  rang  through  the  short 
sentences.  "When  you  want  a  friend  remember 
that  I  am  here.  It 's  more  than  words,  remember. 
Just  as  this  hour  outweighs  empty  years. " 

"I '11  remember." 

"And  I  shall  wait  in  a  solitude  of  one." 

"You  will  have  Arab  Lebarte,"  said  Hildred,  with 
a  sudden  wave  of  loyalty  towards  her  friend. 


Wild  Fruit  129 

Dr.  Lisle  smiled  and  addressing  a  robin  which  had 
just  perched,  bright-eyed,  and  tentative,  on  a  branch 
overhead,  said:  "Bird,  it  is  an  odd  fact  that  the  best 
of  women,  even  though  they  know  you  crave  for  bread 
will  offer  you  a  stone  with  the  smiling  assumption 
that  it  is  a  perfectly  possible  substitute." 

"I—  "  began  Hildred. 

"I  was  speaking  to  the  robin,"  said  Marcus  Lisle, 
tapping  the  fir-needles  from  his  clothes  with  his  riding- 
switch. 

The  bird  hopped  a  little  nearer,  flirted  its  tail,  and 
flew  away. 

"Apparently  he  does  not  appreciate  your  con- 
versation." 

"  He  knows  how  to  give  a  hint, "  said  Marcus  Lisle. 
"Come.  We  had  better  be  getting  back.  My  hour 
is  over.  'Nous  n'irons  plus  au  bois,  les  lauriers  sont 
coupe's?'  I  will  see  you  safely  to  Whitecot  and 
then — "  he  paused. 

"And  then?" 

"Then  I  shall  go  home  and  begin  to  practise  my 
art." 

"What  art?"  asked  Hildred  thoughtlessly. 

"The  art  of  waiting,"  he  answered  with  a  look 
which  made  her  pulses  race  again. 

9 


CHAPTER  XI 

GHOSTS 

AS  the  time  for  Hildred's  departure  drew  near 
Mrs.  Ivors  evinced  an  increased  restlessness, 
which  merged  on  occasions  into  spurts  of  crankiness; 
not  actual  outbursts  of  temper,  but  a  cross  tendency 
to  be  pleased  with  nothing. 

The  days  cooled  and  shortened;  a  period  of  bad 
weather  shook  the  yellowing  leaves  from  the  trees, 
and  hastened  the  look  of  autumnal  austerity. 

A  day's  golf  generally  implied  a  wetting,  and  Kath- 
erine  grew  weary  of  stuffing  wet  boots  with  straw  to 
preserve  their  shape,  and  of  endlessly  drying  dripping 
skirts  and  soaked  woollen  coats. 

"What  pleasure  you  can  find  in  getting  wet  to 
the  skin  every  day  beats  me!"  she  said  at  last. 

"It  isn't  the  getting  wet  pleases  me,"  said  Mrs. 
Ivors — "it 's  the  game — the  game  that 's  so  very  well 
worth  the  candle." 

"What  candle?"  sniffed  Katherine.  "I  think  you 
go  out  and  get  wet  just  to  forget  that  young  miss  is 
going  away." 

"Katherine,  you're  a  greater  idiot  even  than  I 
thought  you,  which  is  saying  a  good  deal, "  retorted 
Mrs.  Ivors,  tramping  restlessly  about  the  kitchen. 

130 


Ghosts  131 

"It  will  be  quite  pleasant  to  have  the  house  to 
ourselves  again." 

"  Pleasant  my  eye, "  said  Katherine  rudely.  "  'T  will 
be  like  a  house  of  the  dead  with  young  miss  gone,  and 
you  out  all  day." 

"It  was  a  necessary  experiment,  Katherine,  and  we 
have  got  to  pay  whatever  it 's  cost  us.  It  has  been  a 
greater  success  than  I,  personally,  ever  anticipated. 
Hildred  is  a  girl  one  might  be  pleased  to  take  any- 
where."  She  unfastened  her  skirt  and  let  it  drop  on 
the  floor. 

Katherine,  who  was  swinging  the  water  out  of  her 
golf -coat,  paused  at  the  words,  with  the  thick  grey 
twist  over  her  arm. 

"If  you  're  as  cold-hearted  as  you  pretend  to  be 
you  ought  to  be  well  ashamed  of  yourself, "  she  cried, 
her  hard  face  working.  "You  don't  deserve  to  have 
a  daughter!" 

"I  never  wanted  one,"  said  Mrs.  Ivors,  abruptly, 
her  lips  thinning  while  a  look  of  anguish  came  into 
her  eyes. 

She  left  the  kitchen  in  her  knickerbockers  and 
stocking-feet,  and  strode  upstairs,  a  figure  suddenly 
touched  with  tragedy  despite  the  grotesqueness  of  her 
attire. 

Hildred,  too,  was  conscious  of  a  sense  of  impending 
loss.  It  would  cost  her  a  greater  pang  to  leave  Bur- 
naby  than  she  had  anticipated.  She  seemed  to  have 
fitted  so  easily  into  her  little  niche.  She  would  be 
really  sorry  to  leave  Whitecot;  to  part  from  Arab 
Lebarte,  who  had  never  stepped  outside  her  normal 
acceptance  of  the  inevitable  since  that  one  wild 
moment ;  from  Dr.  Lisle  whom  she  had  seen  but  seldom 


132         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

since  that  hour  in  the  wood  whose  memory  was  hidden 
deeply  in  the  warmest  corner  of  her  heart.  She  de- 
liberately avoided  probing  below  the  surface  for 
meanings,  though  his  words  rang  bells  of  melody  in  her 
ears.  The  future  was  wrapped  in  a  sun-shot  haze, 
and  of  course  it  would  be  ridiculous  to  let  one's 
imagination  run  riot  and  read  shades  of  sentiment  into 
a  hinted  capacity  for  patience. 

Between  her  and  her  mother  a  sort  of  armed  friend- 
ship had  sprung  up.  Consciously  or  unconsciously 
each  was  on  the  defensive.  The  weapons  of  war  were 
rarely  laid  aside,  or  if  so,  only  within  easy  arm's  reach. 
In  tastes  and  temperament  they  were  jarringly  dis- 
similar, with  a  dissimilarity  set  apart  at  so  wide  an 
angle  that  the  meeting-point  could  only  be  in  eternity. 
Still,  they  had  something  in  common,  a  mutual  courage 
of  action  and  outlook,  a  frankness,  a  love  of  truth  and 
honesty.  There  was  a  meeting-ground  of  charac- 
teristics if  not  of  actual  character. 

Late  one  evening  after  dinner,  an  evening  of  fire- 
light, candle-light,  and  drawn  curtains  which  recalled 
to  Hildred  her  first  night  at  Whitecot,  save  that  scuds 
of  rain  pattered  at  the  window  for  admission  instead 
of  the  scents  and  sounds  of  an  April  dusk,  Mrs. 
Ivors  suddenly  shook  off  her  lounging  position,  sat 
up  straight  in  her  chair,  and  threw  her  cigarette  into 
the  fire. 

Hildred  looked  across  in  some  astonishment. 
Silence  had  fallen  between  them,  and  the  girl's  fingers 
had  been  busy  with  a  strip  of  Venetian  needle-point 
which  had  been  long  doing  with  its  infinitesimal  fairy 
stitches,  while  her  thoughts  fled  far  afield  to  the 
future  and  its  strange  hidden  possibilities,  soaring, 


Ghosts  133 

adventuring,  retreating,  till  with  a  shock  Mrs  Ivors's 
action  recalled  her  vagrant  fancies  to  the  inactive 
present. 

"Hildred,  I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

"Yes." 

"I  think  it  is  only  fair  to  tell  you  something  of  my 
married  life  before  you  leave  me.  I  hate  to  talk  of  the 
past.  It 's  behind  me.  I  Ve  put  it  behind  me,  and  I 
don't  want  to  be  reminded  of  it,  nor  to  raise  its  ghosts." 

Hildred's  calm  was  effectually  shaken  by  her 
mother's  stiff  agitation. 

"  Please  don't  tell  me  anything  if  you  "d  rather  not. " 

"  I  'd  much  rather  not,  but  that 's  not  the  question. 
It  's  a  question  of  right  or  wrong.  It  's  a  question  of 
fairness  or  unfairness  towards  yourself.  In  all  justice 
and  honesty  it  is  only  right  that  you  should  know,  as 
far  as  I  can  tell  you,  why  your  father  and  I  parted. 
'Those  whom  God  hath  joined  together — '"  She 
gave  a  bitter  laugh. 

The  sound  choked  Hildred.  "Please  don't,"  she 
murmured,  but  Mrs.  Ivors  stared  into  the  fire  unheed- 
ing. Then  she  spoke  as  if  she  were  reading  from  a 
book  long  closed. 

"Our  marriage  was  the  usual  one  of  propinquity 
and  physical  attraction.  We  met  at  the  Derings,  our 
mutual  cousins.  That  was  in  their  palmy  days,  before 
they  lost  their  money.  After  the  fall  of  their  leaves, ' 
she  continued  with  a  grim  humour,  "we  paid  them 
back  by  giving  them  you  to  look  after. " 

In  a  wave  of  indignation  Hildred  felt  that  the  tone 
implied  revenge  rather  than  reward. 

"They  were  always  good  to  me, "  she  cried. 

"  No  doubt,  no  doubt.    They  were  well  paid  for  it. " 


134         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

After  a  pause  she  went  on:  "Your  father  was  re- 
markably handsome.  I  was  considered  bright  and 
quite  pretty.  I  was  twenty-five  and  ready  to  be 
pleased  at  his  attentions.  He — had  no  one  else  to  dis- 
tract him,  and  was  probably  attracted  by  my  decision 
of  character — a  quality  in  which  he  himself  was  sadly 
deficient.  I  thought  him  a  demi-god  after  a  little. 
It 's  far  better  to  look  at  a  man  through  the  wrong  end 
of  the  opera-glasses  first,  for  then  you  '11  be  surprised 
if  he  comes  up  to  the  normal  height.  Ingram  did  n't. 
He  either  soared  far  above  it — in  his  own  estimation, 
or  fell  far  below  it — in  mine. " 

This  was  a  new  woman  whom  Hildred  had  never 
seen  before;  a  woman  far  removed  from  the  careless, 
energetic  player  of  games;  a  woman  who  had  suffered, 
and  who  had  bitterly  resented  the  suffering,  on  whom 
"  gnarling  sorrow  "  had  laid  a  heavy  hand,  a  touch  that 
blighted,  but  neither  killed  nor  healed.  She  told  her 
story  with  a  certain  bitter  detachment,  yet  not  so  far 
removed  from  contact  that  the  recital  had  lost  its 
power  to  sting. 

"We  were  poles  apart.  We  had  nothing  in  common. 
We  did  n't  even  speak  the  same  language.  When,  just 
at  first,  he  used  to  ask  my  advice,  I  found  that  it 
was  n't  advice  he  wanted,  but  praise  and  agreement. 
He  used  to  get  quite  angry  if  I  did  n't  advise  him  to  do 
exactly  as  he  wished,  or  approve  of  everything  he  had 
done.  Lots  of  people  are  like  that.  It 's  a  common 
failing.  In  pictures,  music,  books,  and  plays  it  was 
just  the  same.  We  had  n't  a  thought  in  common.  I 
liked  things  one  could  understand,  he  raved  about  the 
intangible,  the  incomprehensible,  the  beautiful,  which 
7  should  often  have  translated  as  the  silly,  the  mean- 


Ghosts  135 

ingless,  and  the  hideous.  I  did  n't  understand  his 
friends  either,  nor  they  me.  He  was  popular  in  a 
certain  set — in  most  sets  really,"  she  added,  with  a 
determination  to  be  honest,  "for  he  had  a  great  per- 
sonal charm  when  he  chose  to  exert  it.  I  was  popular, 
too,  among  my  own  sort,  until  marriage  disappointed 
me,  and  took  all  the  zest  and  brightness  out  of  my 
life." 

"What  did  he — my  father  do?"  asked  Hildred,  her 
voice  fallen  to  a  whisper.  So  far  the  indictment 
seemed  to  her  to  be  directed  against  temperament 
rather  than  the  essentials.  She  had  not  enough  ex- 
perience of  life  to  realise  that  a  sufficiency  of  tempera- 
mental similarity  is  one  of  the  great  essentials  of  a 
happy  marriage. 

"Nothing,"  answered  Mrs.  Ivors,  accentuating  the 
word  ironically.  "At  least  one  could  call  it  nothing, 
even  if  it  meant  everything.  He  neither  lied,  stole, 
swore,  nor  drank,  was  not  unfaithful  to  me,  never  laid 
a  hand  on  me  except  in  kindness,  as  they  say,  never 
really  got  into  tempers,  never  openly  neglected  me. 
Sounds  a  model  husband,  does  n't  he?" 

Hildred  listened,  bewildered  by  the  circling  thoughts 
raised  by  her  mother's  terse  cutting  words — prominent 
amongst  them  being  an  impulse  of  sympathy  towards 
the  errant  father  whose  temperament  was  at  least 
comprehensible  to  her. 

"Made  quite  a  success  of  his  painting,  too — the 
handsome  popular  artist  with  the  dull  plain  wife.  He 
used  to  talk  a  lot  of  rot  about  environment.  He  never 
saw  that  he  had  taken  me  out  of  mine  and  provided 
me  with  a  cage  instead.  He  was  selfish,  utterly 
and  absolutely  selfish.  Well — what 's  the  use  of 


136         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

raking  up  old  bitternesses?  By  the  way,  did  Lady 
Waveney  ever  try  and  pump  you  on  the  subject?" 

"The  first  day  I  met  her  she  asked  me  if  I  had  seen 
my  father  lately?" 

"And  what  did  you  say?"  Mrs.  Ivors  leaned 
forward,  as  if  the  apparently  irrelevant  question 
and  answer  were  of  intense  interest  to  her. 

"I  said  that  I  was  going  to  spend  the  winter  in 
Egypt  with  him." 

"Good  girl.  You  showed  discretion.  Laura's  full 
of  curiosity." 

"Oh,  no,  I  showed  no  discretion,"  said  Hildred. 
quickly.  "  I  told  her  the  only  thing  I  knew,  and  I  was 
not  sure  if  you  would  have  liked  me  to  say  anything  at 
all  on  the  subject.  You  must  recollect  that  until  now 
my  knowledge  of  you  both  has  been  a  perfect  blank. " 

"Never  mind  what  I  'd  have  wished  you  to  say," 
answered  Mrs.  Ivors,  ignoring  her  last  remark.  "That 
does  n't  matter.  Truth  is  truth  no  matter  who  wants 
to  drape  it,  or  how  they  'd  like  it  done.  No,  Ingram 
never  beat  me,  but  he  used  to  say  little  sarcastic  things 
that  made  me  feel  raging  and  helpless  and  gave  me  a 
sort  of  squirm  inside;  he  used  to  look  disapproval  at 
me  with  his  raised  eyebrows.  I  could  feel  his  disap- 
proving eyes  through  the  back  of  my  head.  He — but 
what  's  the  use?  ...  I  suppose  we  should  have 
jogged  along  as  most  couples  do,  only  bumping  into 
each  other  a  little  harder  now  and  then,  if — if  some- 
thing had  n't  happened. " 

Mrs.  Ivors  stopped.  Her  face  looked  suddenly  wild 
and  white;  a  great  fear  was  in  her  eyes.  Hildred 
held  her  breath.  Her  heart  beat  furiously.  Tragedy 
seemed  to  spread  a  pall  about  the  room. 


Ghosts  137 

"I  had  one  great  wish,"  Mrs.  Ivors  continued  in  a 
voice  absolutely  empty  of  feeling,  flat,  dead,  toneless. 
"I  longed  with  all  my  heart  for  a  son.  After  some 
years  my  wish  seemed  about  to  be  fulfilled.  Then  you 
were  born.  I  hated  you.  I  cursed  you  in  my  dis- 
appointment. Still  ...  a  year  later  my — curses 
came  home  to  roost.  I  bore  my  son.  He — I  can't. 
Afterwards  your  father  got  ill,  chest,  lungs.  We 
had  to  winter  in  Egypt.  The  first  year  I  left  you 
behind  and  took — him.  The  second — there  was  an 
epidemic  of  plague — the  doctor  said  it  would  be  mad- 
ness to  take  a  child.  Ingram  insisted  on  my  going 
out  with  him.  When  I  was  away  he — you  both — got 
diphtheria.  He — died.  He  was  dead  when  I  came 
home.  I  never  saw  him  again.  I  never  saw  Ingram 
again.  I  never  saw  you  again  till  last  April.  .  .  . 
Say  nothing.  Make  no  comment.  Never  refer  again 
to  what  I  have  told  you.  ...  I  was  hard,  bitter, 
revengeful.  I  wanted  to  curse  God  and  die.  But 
I  was  too  strong.  Such  as  I  live  far  beyond  the  allot- 
ted span.  I  may  have  been  wrong,  I  don't  know — 
sometimes  I  think  so — but  at  the  time  it  seemed 
impossible  ....  Some  say  that  sorrow  draws 
people  together.  That 's  a  lie.  It  does  n't.  It  puts 
them  miles  apart.  There  's  a  lot  of  rot  talked  about 
things  by  people  who  know  nothing." 

Hildred  sat  mute,  overcome  with  the  shock  of  her 
mother's  outburst.  The  personal  note  was  struck 
first.  She  had  known  herself  to  be  ignored,  deserted, 
but  to  find  that  she  had  been  hated,  cursed,  as  well 
.  .  .  poor  little  innocent  scapegoat  of  another's 
desires.  Her  mother  was  hard,  and  bitter,  and  alien- 
ative  of  all  sympathy.  Yet,  through  her  words  rang 


138         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

the  appeal  of  the  love  pent-up  and  expended  upon  the 
one  frail  blossom  so  soon  to  be  plucked,  the  appeal  of 
suffering,  the  bitter  cry  of  a  broken  heart,  the  aching 
resentful  pride  that  raised  a  barrier  so  high  that  none 
might  cross  it. 

The  silence  grew  intolerable.  At  first  Hildred  could 
have  found  no  words,  even  if  speech  had  not  been 
forbidden ;  then  utterance  became  impossible. 

At  last  the  door  was  opened  with  a  jerk  and  Kath- 
erine  looked  in,  her  white  cap-strings  falling  over  her 
shoulder. 

"I  thought  you'd  all  gone  to  sleep  you  was  so 
quiet,"  she  said. 

"We  've  been  raising  ghosts,  Katherine, "  said  Mrs. 
Ivors  in  a  hard  tone.  "It's  not  exactly  a  lively 
process.  I  'm  going  to  lay  them  now.  Go  away. " 

Katherine  disappeared,  and  shut  the  door  with  a 
bang. 

' '  We  arranged  things  through  lawyers.  We  decided 
the  question  of  your  future.  The  usual  well-meaning 
busybodies  of  relations  tried  to  arrange  a  meeting — a 
reconciliation.  Another  instance  of  the  prating  of 
know-nothings!  If  I  had  seen  Ingram  I  should  cer- 
tainly have  tried  to  kill  him."  She  spoke  with  a 
matter-of-fact  decisiveness  that  heightened  rather 
than  lessened  the  horror  of  the  words.  "I  looked  on 
him  as  my  son's  murderer.  He  would  never  have  died 
if  I  had  been  there. " 

"You " 

"Yes,  I  do  know, "  cried  Mrs.  Ivors  sharply.  " I  'd 
never  have  left  him  night  or  day;  I  'd  have  sucked  the 
poison  from  his  throat.  How  could  hirelings  do  what 
I  would  have  done  to  save  my  son?  What  would  it 


Ghosts  139 

have  mattered  if  I  died  so  that  my  son  had  his  man's 
life?" 

There  was  a  tragic  simplicity  in  the  words,  a  sense 
as  of  motherhood  thwarted  and  spent  in  vain.  For 
her  no  one  else  in  the  world  existed.  All  feeling  was 
drained  into  that  one  cup  of  bitter  regret.  She  could 
have  cried  with  Hecuba: 

"Hadst  thou  but  fallen  fighting,  hadst  thou  known 
Strong  youth  and  love  and  all  the  majesty 
Of  godlike  kings,  then  had  we  spoken  of  thee 
As  of  one  blessed!  .  .  .  but  now  .  .  . 
Poor  little  child!" 

He  had  been  robbed  of  life  with  all  its  glorious 
possibilities,  this  man-child  whom  she  had  brought 
into  the  world,  and  the  cruel  theft  tore  from  her  also 
some  of  the  essentials  of  her  being  and  left  her  warped, 
wounded,  and  spiritually  deformed. 

Hildred  covered  her  eyes.  She  had  no  tears,  her  lids 
were  hot  and  burning,  but  she  impotently  tried  to  shut 
out  the  sight  of  the  soul  which  lay  bare  before  her. 
She  felt  numb,  helpless,  half-pitying,  half-condemning, 
with  the  hasty  judgment  of  youth ;  longing  to  flee,  yet 
chained  by  that  compelling  force,  the  voice  of  a  naked 
self  which  one  hears  only  in  the  rare  moments  of  life. 
She  had  no  personal  gauge  with  which  to  measure  the 
depths  of  such  feelings,  no  personal  balm  to  offer  for 
such  wounds,  no  responsive  stirring  in  the  waters  of 
her  own  soul  whose  deeps  were  still  untroubled;  yet 
the  budding  womanhood  in  her  stretched  out  hands  to 
the  maimed  womanhood  in  her  mother.  Because 
of  that  she  understood  a  little;  she  touched  the  fringe 
of  the  suffering  which  enwrapped  the  other,  and  made 


140         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

of  her  a  figure  as  moving  in  its  single  absorption  as  any 
in  an  old  Greek  drama. 

After  a  little  the  voice  which  had  rung  but  a  moment 
since  with  the  echo  of  an  eternal  sorrow  spoke  again ; 
this  time  there  was  even  a  little  thrill  of  satisfaction  in 
its  tone. 

"  I  've  cut  myself  adrift  from  the  past.  I  've  put  it 
all  behind  me.  I  've  built  up  a  new  life  for  myself.  I 
have  a  place  here  that  is  full  enough  and  interesting 
enough  for  me.  Fortunately,  I  was  always  fond  of 
games  and  out-door  life,"  she  went  on,  unconscious  of 
the  tragic  bathos  of  the  words.  "After  all  to  be  a 
sportsman  in  the  best  sense  implies  a  good  deal. " 

The  sudden  change  of  topic,  the  unexpected  leap 
from  emotion  to  commonplace  was  almost  too  much 
for  Hildred.  She  could  have  laughed  or  cried  hysteri- 
cally. Instead  she  uncovered  her  eyes  to  see  her 
mother,  with  her  everyday  mask  well  adjusted, 
looking  at  the  dying  embers  of  the  fire  as  if  she  pon- 
dered no  deeper  question  than  whether  it  would  be 
worth  while  to  put  on  fresh  coal  or  not.  The  woman 
of  sorrows  had  vanished  with  the  dead  flames,  but  it 
was  a  sudden  and  disturbing  withdrawal. 

"Well,  have  you  nothing  to  say?"  Mrs.  Ivors  asked, 
after  a  pause. 

"You  told  me  to  say  nothing,"  answered  Hildred. 

"  Well,  I  tell  you  to  speak  now. " 

"All  I  have  to  say  is  that  I  am — sorry  for  you 
and  my  father,  but  I  think  I  am  still  sorrier  for  myself. " 

"The  past  is  past,"  began  Mrs.  Ivors. 

"The  past  is  never  past,"  cried  Hildred,  with  a 
flash  of  intuition.  Words  she  had  once  read  raced 
across  her  mind.  "The  past  can  never  die;  what  has 


Ghosts  141 

been  will  be  again,  and  the  things  a  man  has  once 
suffered  he  must  still  endure!"  "It's  perfectly 
true.  The  past  lives  in  you,  and  it  lives  in  me,  and 
in  what  you  have  done  to  me. "  She  stopped,  ashamed 
of  her  outburst  when  she  had  meant  to  hold  herself  in 
check. 

"A  cheerful  theory,  upon  my  soul, "  said  Mrs.  Ivors, 
rising.     "  I  think  we  'd  better  go  to  bed. " 


PART  II 
THE  FATHER 


143 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  WISHING  CAP 

OUT  of  the  dazed  semi-consciousness  which  is 
the  sea's  one  boon  to  her  temporary  victims 
Hildred  dreamily  recalled  the  circumstances  of  her 
departure  from  Burnaby. 

Katherine  had  cried,  yes,  actually  cried  at  her 
going.  Great  tears  had  rolled  down  her  cheeks,  as 
she  gave  the  girl  a  quick,  shamefaced  embrace,  and 
turned  away,  mute. 

Mrs.  Ivors  had  requested  an  occasional  letter. 

"You  might  write  to  me  sometimes,  and  let  me 
know  your  movements,  and  how  you  are  getting 
along.  No  need  to  enthuse  about  the  sunsets  or 
the  dirty  Arabs,  though.  I  don't  appreciate  local 
colour." 

Arab  Lebarte  had  asked  for  news  of  the  great  world 
in  which  Hildred  would  presumably  find  herself. 
"  Tell  me  about  all  the  interesting  people  you  are  sure 
to  meet, "  she  begged.  "  What  they  looked  like,  what 
they  wore,  what  they  said  and  did,  just  to  make  me 
feel  in  touch  with  something  outside. " 

A  quick,  firm  grip  and  a  low- voiced  reminder  that 
the  laurels  were  growing  again  and  that  her  friend  was 
hers  for  ever  and  a  day  was  Dr.  Lisle's  valediction. 

10  145 


146         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

Hildred  smiled  as  she  thought  of  it,  and  of  the  parcel 
of  books  from  her  friend  which  she  had  found  awaiting 
her  on  board  the  Nubia  on  her  arrival. 

For  the  first  time  she  felt  really  aware  of  her  sur- 
roundings. The  horrible  motion  of  the  ship  seemed 
to  have  ceased,  and  a  faint  desire  to  leave  her  cabin 
and  see  what  the  world  of  water  looked  like  from  the 
deck  stirred  her,  but  not  so  far  as  to  induce  present 
action.  She  was  still  content  to  lie  there,  conscious 
of  that  curious  sense  of  detachment  which  assails 
most  people  on  their  first  sea  voyage,  that  sense  as 
of  permanent  separation  from  the  stable  element 
which  the  venturing  upon  the  unstable  one  induces. 
She  turned  on  her  side;  through  the  open  port-hole 
she  could  see  that  the  sun  danced  upon  the  waters. 
It  was  good  to  feel  better ;  it  was  good  to  see  the  sun ; 
it  was  good  to  be  alive.  She  smiled  again. 

"Ah,  that's  right,"  said  a  very  charming  voice. 
"You  must  be  feeling  better.  I  am  so  glad." 

During  the  nightmare  hours  which  were  now 
happily  over  Hildred  had  been  conscious  of  a  kind 
beneficence,  a  sympathetic  presence  in  her  cabin,  but 
she  had  been  too  ill  to  fit  it  with  a  personality  or  to 
take  heed  of  feature  or  characteristic.  At  the  warm, 
gentle  words  she  looked  towards  the  cabin  door  whence 
the  voice  proceeded,  and  saw  fully  for  the  first  time  the 
tall  figure  of  her  travelling  companion,  Miss  Marlowe, 
who  had  apparently  just  returned  from  her  bath. 

There  was  something  instantly  attractive  in  the 
vision  thrown  out  vividly  against  the  background  of 
the  curtained  door — the  curve  of  long  limbs  hinted  at 
through  a  wonderful  pale  blue  dressing-gown  embroid- 
ered in  irises,  white,  lavender,  and  purple,  the  two 


The  Wishing  Cap  147 

plaits  of  wavy  black  hair  which  framed  a  beautiful 
ivory-tinted  face  and  fell  over  her  shoulders  almost  to 
the  knee,  the  black-lashed  eyes  which  looked  at  the 
moment  blue  as  the  sea  itself,  but  which  might  possi- 
bly change  to  grey  or  darken  to  hyacinth  according 
to  surroundings  or  moods,  the  full  humorous  mouth, 
the  firm  chin,  mitigated  by  its  fascinating  dimple. 
The  face  fell  far  below  the  requisite  canons  of  beauty, 
the  nose  was  too  short,  the  chin  too  square,  the  mouth 
too  big,  the  eyebrows  too  straight — but  to  Hildred 
it  was  the  loveliest  face  she  had  ever  seen,  and  she 
promptly  fell  in  love  with  it.  A  curious  inflection  in 
the  soft  voice  went  straight  to  her  heart,  an  inflection 
that  was  not  exactly  cooing,  caressing,  or  coaxing,  but 
a  little  mixture  of  all  three,  a  soft  rising  and  falling 
of  the  melodious  voice  which  was  unfamiliar  yet  not 
unknown  to  Hildred,  and  which  she  could  not  as  yet 
place,  but  which  fascinated  her  as  it  fascinated  most 
other  people  who  came  into  close  contact  with  Hesper 
Marlowe. 

"Do  you  feel  well  enough  to  get  up?"  asked  the 
coaxing  voice.  "It  would  do  you  all  the  good  in  the 
world  if  you  could  see  the  sun  sparkling  on  the  water, 
and  feel  the  sea-breezes  on  your  face. " 

"  I  am  sure  it  would, "  Hildred  answered,  sitting  up. 
"You  have  been  very  good  to  me.  I  don't  think  I 
ever  even  thanked  you." 

"Indeed  you  did,  and  even  if  you  didn't,  what 
thanks  did  I  want?  You  were  very  bad,  you  poor 
child.  I  felt  dreadfully  sorry  for  you."  Miss  Mar- 
lowe's voice  lingered  a  little  on  the  "dreadfully," 
elongating  the  first  vowel  sound  in  a  way  that  brought 
swift  recognition  to  Hildred's  mind. 


148         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

"Now,  I  know!"  she  cried  without  thinking. 
"You 're  Irish!" 

"Of  course  I  am!  What  else  would  I  be?"  asked 
Miss  Marlowe,  with  a  twinkle  of  amusement  peeping, 
elf -like,  through  her  thick  lashes. 

Hildred's  ready  flush  raced  across  her  pale  cheeks. 
"I  'm  sorry  if  I  'm  rude,"  she  said,  "but  your  voice 
puzzled  me  till  I  remembered  an  Irish  girl  who  was  at 
school  with  me,  and  then  I  knew." 

"  The  cloven  hoof,  or  the  uncloven  brogue, "  laughed 
Miss  Marlowe.  Her  laugh  was  melting,  like  her  voice, 
a  heart-whole  infectious  ripple. 

"  I  believe  I  have  some  relations  in  Ireland  myself, " 
Hildred  went  on,  half -shyly. 

"  Of  course  you  have.  I  Ve  never  yet  met  an  Eng- 
lish person  who  was  not  proud  to  claim  the  remotest  re- 
lationship with  an  Irish  person.  Why,  there  are  some 
who  would  claim  kinship  on  the  strength  of  their  great- 
grandmother's  once  having  owned  an  Irish  terrier!" 

Hildred  laughed,  but  her  English  blood  forbade 
agreement  with  the  absurd  statement.  She  lay  back 
on  her  pillows  again,  feeling  suddenly  tired. 

"Ah,  you  're  weak  still,  you  poor  child,"  said  Miss 
Marlowe.  "I  '11  send  you  in  some  breakfast,  and  then 
you  '11  feel  better. " 

"Thank  you  very  much,"  the  girl  answered,  look- 
ing rather  wistfully  at  Miss  Marlowe  as  she  deftly 
pinned  up  the  masses  of  her  black  hair. 

There  was  something  touching  to  the  other  woman 
in  the  young  forlorn  regard,  and  when  she  had  given  a 
final  brushing  to  the  heavy  waves  that  framed  her 
forehead,  and  pulled  a  curve  into  a  more  becoming 
line,  she  turned  to  answer  the  appeal. 


The  Wishing  Cap  149 

"Grandmother,  grandmother,  what  big  eyes  you 
have!"  she  said.  "What  are  you  wondering  now?" 

"I  am  wondering  how  it  is  that  you  should  be — 
mothering  me" — Hildred  choked  a  little  on  the  word, 
and  Hesper,  all  sympathy,  visioned  the  greatest  loss 
a  young  girl  can  know.  "  While  a  person  I  know,  who 
must  be  years  older  than  you  are,  looks  upon  me  as  a 
contemporary." 

The  odd  answer  tickled  Miss  Marlowe's  sense  of 
humour. 

"Perhaps  your  friend  doesn't  know  much  about 
young  girls.  I  do.  I  have  been  in  intimate  touch 
with  a  whole  generation  of  them." 

"A  generation!  Oh,  nonsense — "Hildred  began, 
and  stopped  abruptly,  flushing. 

"Don't  you  call  ten  years  a  generation  of  girls? 
I  taught  girls  music  for  ten  years.  That  removes  any 
feeling  of  equality,  externally,  at  any  rate." 

"Ten  years?"  Hildred  echoed.  The  woman  be- 
fore her  looked  too  young,  too  buoyant  to  have  had 
her  springtime  crushed  beneath  the  wheels  of  routine. 

Miss  Marlowe  nodded,  still  with  the  elfin  twinkle. 

"From  twenty  to  thirty  I  taught  The  Harmonious 
Blacksmith  until  he  was  pounded  to  death  by  his  own 
variations.  I  progressed — "  her  voice  put  a  deli- 
cately scornful  question  mark  after  the  word — "from 
Beethoven  to  MacDowell  and  the  moderns.  Then 
Fortune  sent  me  a  Wishing  Cap,  and  I  Ve  been  wear- 
ing it  with  delight  for  the  past  three  years."  She 
smiled  with  pleasure  at  Hildred 's  incredulous  brows. 
"Yes,  I  'm  thirty-three,  nearly  thirty-four.  Thank 
goodness,  I  don't  think  I  look  it!  I  'm  suffering  from 
a  disease,  though,  which  I  'm  afraid  is  incurable. " 


150         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

Her  face  grew  suddenly  grave  and  she  veiled  her  eyes 
with  quickly  dropped  lashes. 

Hildred's  glance  sobered  in  response,  but  though 
she  felt  a  pang  she  had  yet  a  little  chill  of  distaste  at 
the  unsought  and  to  her  apparently  unnecessary 
confidence. 

Miss  Marlowe  lowered  her  voice.  "  My  complaint 
is  this:  that  in  spirit  I  am  at  least  ten  years  younger 
than  in  real  age!  I  've  tried  to  cure  it,  but  in  vain. " 

Hildred  laughed  in  her  relief.  "Oh,  don't!"  she 
cried.  "You  're  so  much  nicer  as  you  are. " 

"You're  an  odd  child,"  Miss  Marlowe  returned, 
with  another  change  of  mood.  "  Don't  imagine  that  I 
talk  to  people  like  this  as  a  rule,  for  I  don't.  But 
there 's  something  about  you — a  sort  of  drawing 
quality — ah,  I  can't  explain,  I  'm  not  going  to  try. 
I  '11  send  my  maid  in  with  some  breakfast." 

"Please  don't  bother.  The  stewardess  will  look 
after  me. " 

"It  will  be  an  act  of  Christian  charity  to  give 
Nanno  something  to  do,"  said  Miss  Marlowe,  with 
her  disarming  air  of  candour.  "I,  personally,  have 
no  use  for  a  maid,  but  irresponsible  people  who  have 
Wishing  Caps  and  travel  round  the  world  must  weight 
themselves  with  at  least  one  of  the  appendages  of 
respectability,  so  as  Nanno  is  the  least  clogging  and 
the  most  congenial  I  know  I  attached  her  to  me. 
Besides,"  continued  Miss  Marlowe,  smiling  so  that  a 
dimple  near  the  corner  of  her  mouth  peeped  forth  to 
keep  the  chin-dimple  company,  "she  's  not  really  a 
bit  respectable  either!  In  her  own  way  she  is  just 
as  mad  as  I  am.  All  really  nice  people  are  a  little  mad 
you  know!" 


The  Wishing  Cap  151 

With  this  astounding  statement  she  left  the  cabin 
after  adjuring  Hildred  to  eat  every  morsel  she  sent 
in  to  her,  leaving  the  girl,  stirred,  roused,  revivified. 

It  was  as  if  a  breeze  off  the  waves,  which  wash 
away  "all  the  woes  of  men"  had  swept  through  the 
cabin,  bringing  with  it  a  tingling  caress  from 

"The  great  sweet  mother, 
Mother  and  lover  of  men,  the  sea, " 

which  left  behind  as  its  benediction  healing  and  a 
sense  of  quickened  life. 

Hildred  could  not  as  yet  think  with  calmness  of  the 
mother  who  had  cursed  her  in  her  bearing.  Her 
pulses  throbbed  at  the  remembrance  of  the  words. 
Melodramatic  as  they  had  sounded  there  had  been 
none  of  the  mock  grandiosity  of  melodrama  in  their 
cold  poignance.  Still  the  two  days'  anodyne  of  the 
sea  had  already  dulled  the  sharpest  shock  of  the 
pain  inflicted  by  Mrs.  Ivors's  disclosure,  and  with  that 
zest  of  recovery  which  is  one  of  youth's  best  boons,  she 
determined  to  lock  its  memory  into  an  inner  room 
and  hide  the  key  in  a  secret  place. 

She  would  keep  a  seal  upon  her  lips,  a  check  upon 
her  tongue;  she  would  take  thankfully  any  gifts  that 
each  new  day  might  proffer,  or  bear  with  equanimity 
any  lawful  burden  it  might  inflict.  Her  spirit  rose  to 
adventure's  far-off  echo. 

It  was  strange  how  completely  the  two  Bering 
cousins,  whose  hands  had  once  held  the  unfilled  cup 
of  her  young  life,  had  receded  to  a  colourless  back- 
ground, blotted  almost  out  of  recollection  by  the  more 
vivid  personalities  she  had  recently  encountered. 

When  Miss  Marlowe's  Nanno  arrived  with  a  tempt- 


152         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

ing  breakfast,  and  proved  to  be  an  elderly  brown-faced 
Irishwoman  with  eyes  as  bright  as  a  bird's,  a  Kather- 
ine  with  her  mental  angles  long  since  rounded  into 
mellowness  and  her  physical  ones  softened  into  curves, 
Hildred  felt  a  sense  of  protection  and  well-being  which 
she  had  lacked  since  the  beginning  of  her  voyage. 

To  find  a  deck-chair  environed  with  cushions  and 
rugs  awaiting  her  when  she  crawled  up  to  the  blue 
freshness  of  day  came  as  another  pleasant  surprise. 
Miss  Marlowe  was  reading  when  Nanno  convoyed  her 
pale  young  derelict  to  these  comfortable  moorings. 
She  smiled  and  nodded  a  welcome,  but  gave  the  girl 
time  to  rest  and  take  stock  of  her  surroundings  before 
she  attempted  conversation. 

Afterwards  Hildred  discovered  that  this  was  another 
of  Miss  Marlowe's  charms;  she  knew  when  to  be  silent. 

In  spite  of  what  she  had  said  it  came  with  more  than 
a  tinge  of  surprise  to  the  girl  to  find  that  Miss  Marlowe 
on  deck  was  an  entirely  different  person  from  Miss 
Marlowe  in  her  cabin.  The  upper  air  seemed  to 
freeze  her  warm  candour  into  a  somewhat  princely 
aloofness.  She  was  charming  to  all,  but  friendly  to 
none  save  Hildred.  She  had  a  keen  eye  for  a  syco- 
phant, and  the  rich,  as  rich,  did  not  interest  her,  unless 
they  were  interesting  in  themselves — "which,"  as  she 
once  said  to  Hildred,  "seldom  is  the  case." 

"  I  believe  I  should  find  more  congenial  people  in  the 
second  saloon,"  she  said  another  day,  "but  it's  so 
stuffy,  and  my  Wishing  Cap  allows  me  to  travel  first, 
a  luxury  of  which  I  have  n't  yet  tired.  Travelling 
third,  with  all  that  it  implies,  is  a  splendid  preparation 
for  the  enjoyment  of  riches. " 

"  I  suppose  so.     I  've  never  travelled  third. " 


The  Wishing  Cap  153 

"  It 's  an  education. " 

"  But  an  unpleasant  one. " 

"Not  necessarily.  Besides,  education  always  in- 
volves discipline.  It's  only  afterwards  that  we  learn 
to  kiss  the  rod. " 

"Must  we?"  asked  Hildred  wistfully. 

"We  must,  if  we  're  to  make  anything  of  this  glori- 
ous jumble  called  life,"  returned  Miss  Marlowe  with 
decision.  "Look  at  that  fantastic  coast-line,  with  its 
peaks  and  pinnacles. " 

Hildred  looked.  It  was  afternoon,  and  the  day  had 
been  mild  and  calm.  The  rugged  hills  cut  jaggedly 
into  a  pale  sky;  small  brown  villages  nestled  at  their 
feet,  and  a  white-sailed  boat  here  and  there  tilted  like 
a  butterfly's  wing  scross  the  blue-grey  sea.  On  the 
highest,  wildest  peak  stood  a  monastery  which  looked 
as  if  it  had  been  carved  out  of  the  pinnacle  on  which 
it  rested.  Suddenly  across  the  water  came  the  faint, 
far  sound  of  a  bell,  evoking  the  vision  of  cowled  figures 
at  prayer  in  a  dim  church  in  that  remote  fastness. 
The  stable  element  and  the  unstable  were  swiftly 
connected  by  one  of  the  world's  great  links. 

A  silence  fell,  and  Hildred's  thoughts  fled  back  to 
that  May  morning  in  the  wood  when  she  had  heard  the 
first  echo  of  the  bluebell's  chime,  and  the  later  magic 
hour. 

Miss  Marlowe's  flitted  among  her  memories,  perch- 
ing on  none. 

"That's  Portugal,"  she  said  at  last.  "I  mean  to 
go  there  some  day." 

After  that  they  had  many  talks,  and  a  friendship 
compatible  with  the  gulf  of  years  that  stretched  be- 
tween them  sprang  into  being.  Hildred's  feeling  was 


154         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

tinctured  with  that  shy  adoration  which  some  girls 
feel  for  an  older  woman  who  shows  sympathy  with- 
out curiosity  and  comprehension  without  exaction. 
Miss  Marlowe  felt  curiously  attracted  by  the  girl  and 
appreciated  the  delicate  reserve  in  which  she  veiled 
herself. 

They  bought  together  little  green  twisted  baskets 
of  fruit  at  Gibraltar  and  great  branches  of  flaming 
poinsettia;  they  watched  the  tinkling  ayahs  and 
swarthy  Lascars  bargaining  for  oranges,  and  the 
many-coloured  boats  which  clustered  round  the 
ship  like  wasps  about  a  pear,  sucking  honey  of  silver 
from  its  bored  passengers. 

They  steamed  on  a  blue  dancing  day  into  port  at 
Marseilles,  where  the  gold  cross  glittered  on  the  domed 
roof  of  the  Cathedral,  while  the  wide  semicircle  of  the 
bay  curved  away  to  red-roofed  villas  and  a  blur  of 
welcome  green,  and  over  all  the  uplifted  Notre  Dame 
de  la  Garde  watched  beneficently. 

Together  they  weathered  the  disagreeabilities  of  a 
mistral,  and  saw  a  distant  waterspout  show  like  a 
curved  black  ribbon  from  sky  to  sea  with  a  cloud  of 
whirling  spray  at  its  base;  together  they  watched  for 
the  first  sight  of  Africa  hours  before  they  could  have 
even  glimpsed  the  land. 

Incidentally  Hildred  learned  many  things  about  her 
own  race  and  Miss  Marlowe's. 

She  learned,  for  instance,  that  between  England 
and  Ireland  is  a  great  gulf  fixed,  a  gulf  of  tempera- 
ment, character,  and  characteristic,  that  Irish  people 
always  speak  of  English  people  as  "the  English," 
and  that  although  they  may  understand  one  another 
up  to  a  certain  point,  sooner  or  later  one  or  other  comes 


The  Wishing  Cap  155 

up  against  a  high  blank  wall  of  non-comprehension ; 
she  learned  that  "the  English"  are  more  sentimental, 
less  reticent,  more  prone  to  give  confidences  to  stran- 
gers than  the  Irish,  that  their  boasted  reserve  is  no 
more  than  self -consciousness  and  conceit,  and  is  as 
easily  picked  as  a  bubble;  that  they  are  insular  and 
ignorant  (of  all  things  Irish!),  dull  as  oxen,  tenacious 
as  bulldogs,  unscrupulous  where  the  annexation  of 
land  is  concerned,  whether  in  terms  of  counties  or 
countries,  or  even  acres.  In  fact  the  poor  English  had 
every  one  of  their  vaunted  qualities  plucked  remorse- 
lessly from  them  until  they  stood  bare  and  shivering 
beneath  the  lash  of  Miss  Marlowe's  scorn. 

In  vain  Hildred  tried  to  fly  the  Union  Jack,  and 
reclothe  John  Bull;  Miss  Marlowe  had  a  sweeping 
way  with  her  which  would  brook  no  obstacle.  She 
metaphorically  stamped  on  John's  low  felt  hat  until  a 
self-respecting  scarecrow  would  have  been  ashamed 
to  wear  it. 

Then  she  completely  took  the  wind  out  of  Hildred's 
sails  of  protest  by  concluding,  with  her  soft  pic- 
turesque italicism : 

"Of  course  I  'm  not  talking  of  the  English  as  individ- 
uals. As  individuals  I  consider  them  perfectly  de- 
lightful. My  best  friends  are  English. " 

"Of  what  have  you  been  talking  then?"  asked 
Hildred,  agasp  at  such  a  whirling  reversal. 

"Of  the  English  as  a  nation,  of  course,"  returned 
Miss  Marlowe,  with  the  most  melodious  inflection.  "  As 
a  nation  they  are  detestable,  abominable,  altogether 
impossible — ugh!  But  as  individuals,  charming." 

Hildred  was  half -vexed,  half -amused.  "But  a 
nation  is  composed  of  individuals, "  she  protested. 


156         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,  my  dear,  any  more  than  a  crowd 
is  composed  of  human  beings." 

"What  else ?" 

"Oh,  it's  too  hot  for  explanations,"  said  Miss 
Marlowe,  tucking  her  arm  through  the  girl's. 

"  Fancy  finding  it  too  hot  for  anything  in  December ! 
Come,  let 's  go  look  for  Africa!" 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  KEY-HOLE  OF  EGYPT 

T  IKE  many  another  patriot  Hildred  reserved  to 
I—/  herself  the  right  of  finding  fault  with  her  own 
country,  and  though  her  sense  of  justice  told  her  that 
she  echoed  more  than  one  of  Miss  Marlowe's  indict- 
ments she  nevertheless  felt  a  faint  prick  of  resentment 
at  her  candid  criticism.  If  she  had  only  realised  that 
it  was  her  mother  in  her  whose  national  susceptibilities 
were  being  rubbed  the  wrong  way  she  would  have 
striven  to  cast  the  feeling  from  her;  but  who  shall 
undertake  and  disentangle  even  one  of  the  intertwin- 
ing threads  of  which  the  fabric  of  every  life  is  spun? 
Who  can  even  dimly  guess  at  the  complexity  of  its 
spinning,  of  the  different  fibres  which  go  to  its  final 
weaving? 

And  yet,  as  Hildred  leaned  over  the  taffrail,  her 
eyes  searching  the  misty  horizon  for  a  glimpse  of 
land,  her  arm  touching  that  of  Miss  Marlowe,  she 
felt  a  sudden  waft  of  loneliness  at  the  thought  that  she 
was  so  soon  to  lose  this  new  friend  who  had  been  to 
her  more  than  the  usual  chance-found  companion  of 
travel.  Was  life  for  her  to  be  made  up  of  intervals 
of  marching  in  the  great  procession,  each  time  with  a 
new  set  of  comrades?  She  seemed  no  sooner  to  have 


158         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

got  in  touch  with  one  group  than  she  was  moved  on  to 
another.  The  quiet  inexorability  of  Fate  caught  and 
chilled  her.  She  longed,  or  thought  she  longed  for 
permanence,  not  realising  that  if  she  slipped  into  a 
groove,  however  wide,  the  youth  in  her,  reinforced 
by  her  father's  vagrant  spirit  would  swiftly  cry  aloud 
for  change. 

"I  feel  excited  at  the  very  thought  of  Egypt,"  said 
Miss  Marlowe's  voice  in  her  ear.  " Don't  you?" 

"Yes,"  answered  the  girl,  detaching  her  thoughts 
with  an  effort,  and  lifting  her  eyes  from  the  lulling  roll 
of  the  long  burnished  water-ripples  as  they  melted 
from  a  silver  brilliance  to  a  hazy  blue  with  dreamy 
reiteration. 

"There  is  a  fascination,  an  enchantment  about  its 
very  name.  That  Mark  Antony  should  have  called 
Cleopatra  his  Royal  Egypt  always  seems  to  me  to  sum 
up  the  magic  of  the  country  and  of  the  woman  in  one 
word.  Don't  you  think  so?" 

"I  suppose  so.     Yes.     I  don't  know." 

Miss  Marlowe  turned  to  face  her. 

"You're  dreaming,  child.  Or  is  anything  the 
matter?" 

"I  don't  think  so.  Yes,  there  is,"  said  Hildred, 
with  an  impulse  towards  confidence.  "  I  feel  lonely  at 
the  thought  of  losing  you,  and  a  little  nervous  about 
meeting  my  father." 

"Why?     Is  it  long  since  you  've  seen  him?" 

"  I  have  n't  seen  him  since  I  was  a  child.  I  was  at 
school,  and  then  abroad,  as  I  've  told  you,  and  spent 
my  holidays  with  two  old  cousins. " 

"And  he?" 

"  Oh,  he  was  wandering, "  answered  Hildred,  retreat- 


The  Key-Hole  of  Egypt          159 

ing  again  into  her  shell.  "He  didn't  want  to  be 
bothered  with  a  schoolgirl  on  his  travels." 

"I  see."  Miss  Marlowe  nodded  in  a  wise  way, 
which  seemed  to  convey  more  comprehension  than 
her  actual  words.  "But  now  that  you  are  grown  up, 
polished,  a  finished  product,  he  is  eager  to  show  you 
to  his  friends  and  to  give  you  a  good  time. " 

"I  suppose  so,"  said  Hildred  quietly,  but  her  lips 
curled  into  a  dry  little  smile. 

"As  for  losing  me,"  Miss  Marlowe  continued,  "I 
don't  see  why  that  should  be  at  all  necessary.  We  are 
bound  to  meet  in  Egypt,  especially  if  you  go  up  the 
river.  Will  you  be  doing  that,  do  you  think?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"I  'm  going  as  far  as  Assuan  with  the  Nugents  in 
their  dahabieh.  Sylvia  and  Gerda  Nugent  were  both 
pupils  of  mine,  and  Lady  Nugent  has  always  been 
good  to  me.  Sylvia  is  married  now,  but  Roddy,  the 
eldest  son,  has  been  ill,  and  they  want  to  see  what  a 
winter  on  the  Nile  will  do  for  him,  so  they  've  taken 
a  dahabieh  for  the  season,  and  have  asked  me  to  join 
them.  It 's  a  delightful  chance  for  me,  for  it  makes 
such  a  difference  going  with  people  one  likes.  I  went 
to  India  with  them  two  years  ago.  They  are  great 
travellers." 

"They  must  be.     How  did  you  like  India?" 

"Immensely.  I  had  a  wonderful  time  there,  but 
somehow  I  fancy  that  Egypt  will  fascinate  me  even 
more.  Port  Said,  dirty  little  place  that  it  is,  was  my 
first  peep-hole  into  the  East,  and  I  have  never  forgotten 
it.  The  country  draws  me  somehow.  I  can't 
explain  exactly  how  or  why.  It  seems  to  me  to  be 
naked,  yet  veiled,  bare  yet  luxuriant,  filled  with  sound 


i6o        The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

and  colour,  yet  empty  of  something  essential,  fierce — 
oh,  what  fantastic  nonsense  I  'm  talking!" 

"No,  you're  not.  Go  on.  I  like  it."  Hildred 
touched  her  arm.  "Ah,  can  that  be  Egypt?"  She 
pointed  to  a  blur  upon  the  water.  "No,  it  can't  be. 
It  does  n't  even  look  like  land.  It 's  more  like  boats 
— a  Noah's  Ark  just  resting  on  the  sea. " 

"Yes,  it  is.  It  is, "  cried  Miss  Marlowe.  "  Feel  my 
absurd  heart,  how  it's  beating  at  the  sight."  She 
caught  the  girl's  hand  and  pressed  it  for  an  instant 
against  the  warm  softness  above  her  heart  which 
throbbed  quickly  and  irregularly.  "Yes,  that 's 
Egypt,  or  at  least  her  postern,  Port  Said — that  cluster 
of  houses  apparently  floating  upon  the  water.  I  can 
hear  the  voices  of  Egypt  calling  me  already. " 

Her  words  came  breathlessly,  a  tinge  of  pale  rose, 
like  the  inside  of  a  shell,  touched  the  whiteness  of  her 
skin,  and  light  like  some  inner  flame  shone  through 
her  eyes. 

With  a  quick  flash  of  memory  and  metaphor  the 
vision  sprang  to  Hildred' s  mind  of  the  evening  sun 
seen  shining  through  the  alabaster  windows  in  San 
Miniato,  turning  for  a  magic  moment  their  ivory  pal- 
lor to  a  rosy  translucence.  Such  susceptibility  to 
beauty,  to  intangible  influences,  was  another  bond 
between  them. 

"The  voices  of  Egypt,"  Miss  Marlowe  murmured, 
"subtle,  insistent,  irresistible.  One  should  hear  them 
soon  with  the  ears  of  the  body  as  well  as  with  the 
spirit  sense.  The  whisper  of  dome  and  murmur  of 
minaret,  the  call  of  colour,  life,  movement,  the  magic 
of  Egypt — oh,  its  wonderful,  wonderful!" 

Her  voice  trailed  into  silence;    she  rested  her  face 


The  Key-Hole  of  Egypt          161 

on  her  hands  and  gazed  at  the  land  they  were  nearing ; 
bright  houses  looking  like  those  of  a  new  toy  village 
dotted  down  upon  a  strip  of  sand,  a  picturesque  if 
ineffective  huddle,  topped  beyond  by  greenish  domes. 

"So  that 's  Egypt, " said  Hildred,  with  a  vague  sense 
of  disappointment.  After  Miss  Marlowe's  rhapsody 
she  had  expected  something  more  tangibly  unusual. 

The  statue  of  De  Lesseps  loomed  at  the  entrance  of 
the  Canal,  growing  in  size  as  the  great  liner  drew  slowly 
nearer. 

"Yes,  that 's Egypt,"  answered  Miss  Marlowe  in  a 
tone  of  dreamy  satisfaction,  as  chin  on  hand  she  gazed 
towards  the  distant  blue-green  domes.  "Even  over 
the  prose  of  coaling  she  throws  a  corner  of  her  magic 
veil.  We  stopped  here  one  night  to  coal  on  our  way 
to  India.  I  wonder  if  I  could  make  you  see  what  I  see." 

"Try,"  said  Hildred,  anxious  to  hear  anything  that 
would  help  to  restore  the  glamour  to  her  old  Eastern 
visions. 

Miss  Marlowe's  eyes  looked  far  away:  her  voice 
rose  and  fell  melodiously.  For  a  moment  the  brilliant 
sunlight  was  obscured  for  Hildred,  blotted  out  by  the 
blue  dusk  evoked  by  the  flowing  words — a  sudden 
darkness  illuminated  by  a  silver  slip  of  moon  which 
revealed  a  wonderland  of  glimmering  lights,  pale 
radiances,  and  velvet-black  shadows,  while  a  forest  of 
slanting  masts  of  Nile  boats  bent  like  a  swathe  of  dry 
rushes  against  a  faint,  yellow  horizon. 

' '  Large  flat  barges  full  of  dusky  shapes  were  moored 
against  the  ship's  side,"  the  seductive  voice  went  on. 
"Great  flares  of  red  light  glowed  sullenly,  and  sent 
up  clouds  of  dun  smoke  towards  the  clear  sky.  Now 
and  again  a  dim  form  beat  upon  a  brazier,  and  the 


162         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

sparks  flew  out  revealing  a  line  of  shadowy  figures 
bending  beneath  their  loads,  like  grim  shades  from 
some  remote  under- world.  Strange  cries  broke  upon 
the  stillness,  weird  songs  of  three  notes  swelled  out  and 
died  away;  horse  calls  issued  from  the  haze,  and 
through  it  all  flitted  the  shades  in  a  kind  of  ordered 
disorder.  The  moon  rose  higher  and  shone  on  those 
greeny  domes  and  the  pillared  arches  underneath,  on 
that  flat-topped  city  of  twinkling  lights,  on  the  darting 
boats  whose  lanterns  shed  flakes  of  orange  flame  on 
the  dark  water;  until  at  last  the  flares  died  out  one 
by  one ;  the  barges  were  once  more  crowded  with  their 
freight  of  lost  souls,  who  slowly  ferried  themselves  and 
their  Charons  back  to  the  darkness  from  whence  they 
had  come,  to  the  burden  of  their  own  monotonous 
chanting." 

Her  voice  sank,  and  Hildred,  spellbound,  saw  that 
there  were  tears  in  her  eyes.  Then  she  tilted  her  chin 
in  a  way  that  Hildred  was  beginning  to  know,  and 
continued  in  a  lighter  tone: 

"And  the  next  day  every  one  said  how  dirty  it  was 
and  what  a  bore  the  coaling  had  been !  Look  up,  child, 
and  greet  De  Lesseps,  to  whom  this  wonderful  canal 
is  due. " 

From  that  moment  the  colour  and  movement  on 
shore  engrossed  Hildred  as  the  ship  steamed  showly  to 
her  mooring-place  opposite  the  arched  and  pillared 
building  with  its  three  blue-green  domes,  surmounted 
by  the  sign  of  the  crescent. 

The  varied  shipping,  the  flat-topped,  brightly 
coloured  houses,  the  gaily  painted  boats  with  striped 
awnings  at  the  steps  on  shore  made  a  fit  setting  for  the 
crowd  of  blue-robed  Arabs,  negroes,  and  donkey- 


The  Key- Hole  of  Egypt          163 

boys  running  alongside  donkeys  jingling  with  chains 
and  gay  with  scarlet  and  white  saddle-cloths  and  red- 
humped  native  saddles,  who,  alongshore,  accompanied 
the  liner's  slow  progress,  shouting,  calling,  laughing, 
in  a  shrill  indistinguishable  babel  of  sound. 

It  was  interesting,  amusing,  if  slightly  bewildering. 

When  farewells  had  been  said  and  mails  distributed, 
when  the  liner  stopped  almost  imperceptibly  and  was 
boarded  by  a  horde  of  white-robed  importunate  Arabs, 
who  settled  like  locusts  upon  the  luggage  of  the  un- 
resisting passengers,  a  tall  stout  man  in  flannels  and  a 
Panama  hat  clove  through  the  surge  of  humanity 
with  an  air  of  authority,  and  demanded  to  see  Miss 
Ivors. 

Puzzled,  piqued  with  a  curiosity  which  was  yet 
tinged  with  nervousness,  Hildred  stepped  forward. 
Could  it  possibly  be  her  father?  She  had  not  expected 
to  see  him  until  she  arrived  in  Cairo. 

She  decided  as  she  glanced  upwards  that  it  was  not 
he — he  could  not  have  grown  so  big  and  brown. 

"I  am  Miss  Ivors,"  she  said.  The  big  man  held 
out  his  hand. 

"  My  name  is  Carteret, "  he  replied.  "Your  father 
asked  me  to  have  an  eye  to  you  and  see  you  through 
the  customs  here.  I  'm  Chief  Inspector,  so  it  will  be 
very  difficult  to  square  me. " 

"Fortunately  I  have  no  need  to  try,"  said  Hildred, 
with  her  quick  appealing  blush.  "I  have  nothing  to 
declare." 

"  No  tobacco?  "  suggested  Mr.  Carteret,  who  seemed 
fond  of  a  joke. 

"  I  have  n't  learned  how  to  smoke  yet.  Here  are  my 
keys." 


164        The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

"  Put  them  back  in  that  nice  little  grey  bag  of  yours, 
and  let  me  take  you  to  my  place  for  a  cup  of  tea.  My 
wife  is  expecting  you. " 

"The  lady  I  am  travelling  with — "began  Hildred, 
looking  round  for  Miss  Marlowe. 

"  I  hope  she  will  come  too.  You  will  have  time  for 
tea,  and  a  look  round  before  the  evening  train  goes. 
Your  ship  's  late." 

"Is  she?  Something  broke  down  once  I  believe, 
and  that  delayed  her." 

"You  didn't  mind,  I  daresay.  Found  plenty  to 
amuse  you  on  board. " 

"  Yes, "  answered  Hildred.  "Ah,  here  is  Miss  Mar- 
lowe. ' '  She  made  the  necessary  introduction.  ' '  Mrs. 
Carteret  has  invited  us  to  have  tea  with  her. " 

"How  delightful!"  said  Miss  Marlowe,  drawing 
on  her  white  gloves.  "Tea  on  shore  sounds  quite 
entrancing. " 

"If  you  will  point  me  out  your  luggage,  I  '11  see  it 
through,  and  have  it  at  the  station  for  you  with  no 
further  trouble. " 

"Have  we  rubbed  a  magic  ring  and  evoked  a  bene- 
ficent genie?"  asked  Miss  Marlowe,  dimpling. 

"The  genie  in  this  case  is  genius,"  returned  Car- 
teret. "  I  am  a  great  admirer  of  Ingram  Ivors  and  all 
his  works,  and  he  has  given  me  a  pleasure  as  well  as  a 
privilege  in  permitting  me  to  be  of  some  use  to  his 
daughter  as  well  as  to  yourself,  Miss  Marlowe. " 

" Is  it  possible, "  cried  Miss  Marlowe,  "that  you  are 
Irish  too?" 

"  Is  it  possible,  my  dear  young  lady,  that  I  could  be 
anything  else?" 

This  animated  colloquy  brought  the  party  to  the 


The  Key-Hole  of  Egypt          165 

gangway,  at  whose  foot  Mr.  Carteret's  boat  waited, 
scarlet-cushioned,  and  with  liveried  rowers.  They 
embarked  on  a  wave  of  obsequious  speeding,  more 
important  in  their  departure  than  they  had  been  on 
their  arrival. 

Hildred  felt  a  little  thrill  of  pride  at  the  realisation 
that  here  her  father  was  a  personage  who  counted. 
His  fame  had  never  touched  her  before;  it  was 
semi-local.  His  vogue  was  greater  in  Egypt  than  in 
England,  for  whose  praise  or  blame  he  professed  not 
to  care,  and  whose  climate  affected  him  far  more 
intimately  than  either. 

Mrs.  Carteret's  hospitality  sped  another  pleasant 
hour  or  two. 

The  noise  and  unfamiliar  clamour  in  the  street  drew 
the  travellers  to  the  window. 

"Would  you  not  like  to  come  out  on  the  balcony?" 
asked  Mrs.  Carteret.  "  It  must  all  be  so  novel  to  you, 
Miss  Ivors.  When  I  came  out  here  first  I  could  not 
keep  away,  but  now — "  She  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"You  are  used  to  it,"  said  Hildred. 

"Yes,  and  it  means  parting  from  the  children," 
answered  Mrs.  Carteret,  with  a  sudden  sigh.  "  It 's 
all  right  when  they  are  little.  One  can  have  them  here 
then,  but  when  they  grow  bigger  they  must  go  to 
school,  and  it 's — it 's  rather  a  wrench. "  She  pulled  a 
chair  forward  for  the  girl,  but  Hildred  leaned  on  the 
balcony  rail,  looking  down  at  the  gay  bustling  scene 
in  the  street  beneath  her. 

Mingling  with  the  Europeans  were  black-veiled 
Arab  women,  with  gold  horns  down  their  noses,  native 
policemen  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  street,  white- 
robed  men  driving  camels,  yelling  donkey-boys  and 


1 66         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

peddlers  shouting  their  wares.  Here  a  negro  boy  in 
dull  yellow  carried  on  his  head  a  flat  basket  of  oranges, 
ripe  amid  their  own  fresh  leaves;  there  a  hawk-eyed, 
brown-faced  man  in  soft  blue  rags  balanced  on  one 
hand  a  basket  edged  with  spikes  on  which  hung  rings 
of  bread,  large  and  small;  here  came  a  lad  in  green 
with  a  wicker  tray  of  red  mullet,  while  there  another, 
in  a  dull  pink  robe  sold  dates — great  reddish-purple 
clusters  on  saffron  stems.  Over  all,  permeating  all, 
beating  and  ascending  through  the  quivering  heat-rays 
was  the  warm,  dry,  pungent  smell  of  the  East. 

In  the  cooler  room  behind,  Miss  Mario  we  was  eagerly 
examining  her  host's  collection  of  scarabs  and  mummy- 
beads.  It  was  their  colour  which  chiefly  appealed  to 
her — the  wonderful  blue,  which  is  like  no  other  blue  in 
the  world,  the  softened  greens,  the  dull  rich  browns. 
Colour  and  mystery,  mystery  and  colour — how  they 
were  interwoven,  she  thought,  as  she  turned  a  deep 
azure  scarab  in  her  palm. 

"I  have  never  seen  any  of  Mr.  Ivors's  paintings," 
she  said  softly.  "Are  they  good?" 

"I  think  them  excellent, "  replied  the  man,  enthusi- 
astically. "Of  course  I  'm  no  judge,  but  those  who 
are  agree  with  me.  You  must  see  his  pictures  if  you 
are  interested  in  Egypt.  He  catches  a  certain  phase 
— not  that  sort, "  he  waved  his  hand  towards  the  street 
— "not  the  market-place  and  the  set  pieces — but  the 
more  elusive  phases  of  Egypt — he  does  those  as  no  one 
else  can.  I  can't  afford  to  buy  them,  but  I  assure 
you  that  if  I  only  had  the  money  there  are  certain 
pictures  signed  'Ego'  that  I  'd  rather  have  on  my  walls 
than  any  Turner  or  Titian  that  ever  was  painted!" 

"Ego?"     Her  brows  queried  delicately. 


The  Key- Hole  of  Egypt          167 

"  That 's  what  he  signs  himself.  Ingram  Ivors — I. 
I.  'It 's  flinging  myself  at  them  however  I  do  it,' 
he  said  long  ago,  'so  I  '11  sign  myself  "Ego"  pure  and 
simple.'  So  he  did,  and  so  he  's  done  ever  since.  His 
daughter 's  a  little  like  him  but  not  so  good-looking. 
She 's  more  like  her  mother,  except  for  her  colouring. " 

"  Did  you  know  her  mother?  She  never  speaks  of 
her." 

"Ah,  she  couldn't  remember  her,"  said  Carteret. 
"Why,  she  must  have  been  only  a  child  when  it 
happened. " 

"When  what  happened?  Forgive  my  curiosity, 
but  I  am  really  interested  in  the  girl. " 

"  Oh,  there 's  no  mystery  as  far  as  I  know — only  a 
tragedy.  Poor  Ivors  lost  both  wife  and  son  at  the 
same  time — diphtheria.  It  must  be  fifteen  or  sixteen 
years  ago.  How  time  flies.  He  was  out  here  for  his 
health,  he  and  his  wife,  and  they  got  a  cable  to  say  that 
the  children  were  ill.  She  went  off  at  once.  I  saw 
her  when  she  was  going  back.  Like  a  woman  of 
stone  she  was.  He  went  later.  He  came  out  again 
next  winter  looking  like  death  and  told  me  he  had  lost 
both  son  and  wife.  I  supposed  she  caught  the  diph- 
theria from  the  children.  This  little  girl  was  brought 
up  by  cousins,  he  told  me  the  other  day,  when  he 
asked  me  to  look  after  her. " 

"Yes,  so  she  said,"  answered  Miss  Marlowe. 
"Thanks  for  telling  me.  I  understand  things  better 
now. " 

"I  often  wonder  why  he  did  n't  marry  again.  An 
attractive  fellow,  and  making  pots  of  money.  Just 
the  sort  of  chap  that  women  adore. " 

"Now  you've  rather  prejudiced  me,"  said  Miss 


1 68         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

Marlowe,  disappointedly.  "The  sort  of  man  whom 
women  adore  does  n't  appeal  to  me  at  all. " 

"I  don't  mean — I  mean  that — well,  I  'm  really  not 
quite  sure  what  I  do  mean,"  said  Carteret  with  a  big 
laugh.  "But  anyhow,  Ivors  is  a  decent  chap,  in  spite 
of  his  artistic  temperament  which  often  rather  puzzles 
a  plain  fellow  like  myself.  I  'd  be  sorry  if  anything  I 
blunderingly  said  prejudiced  you  against  him." 

"  Perhaps  we  shall  not  meet.  Miss  Ivors  and  I  part 
company  in  Cairo  and  we  are  not  very  likely  to  see 
much  of  one  another,  as  I  am  going  with  friends 
on  to  Assuan,  and  she  will  be  with  her  father,  where- 
ever  he  is." 

"That  will  not  be  Cairo  for  long,  I  fancy.  The 
river  's  more  in  his  line.  He  '11  probably  camp  out  at 
Luxor  or  some  Nile  haunt  of  his.  Wherever  he  may 
intend  to  go  he  says  he  always  has  to  get  back  to  the 
Nile  after  a  bit.  Poor  chap,  he  said  once  that  he  'd 
like  to  die  by  the  river  some  day. " 

"That  sounds  rather  morbid.     Is  he  ill?" 

"Oh,  no.  Chest  delicate,  I  believe,  but  he  always 
seems  quite  fit  and  full  of  life  whenever  I  see  him." 

"He  has  one  good  friend  at  any  rate,"  remarked 
Miss  Marlowe,  with  a  smile. 

"He  has  scores  of  them,  for  the  matter  of  that," 
said  Carteret,  exaggerating  in  his  enthusiasm. 

Later,  as  he  walked  with  Hildred  up  the  platform 
while  his  wife  and  Miss  Marlowe  went  on  ahead,  he 
turned  to  the  girl. 

"  Do  you  know  that  you  remind  me  a  little  of  your 
mother,  Miss  Ivors?" 

Hildred  was  oddly  startled.  She  had  not  expected 
to  find  remembrance  of  her  mother  here. 


The  Key-Hole  of  Egypt          169 

"Really?  Did  you  know  her?"  she  found  words 
for  no  more.  She  shrank  from  question  or  comment. 

"  I  met  her  here  on  her  way  home — that  last  time, " 
he  answered  in  a  low  voice. 

"Oh." 

He  noted  her  shrinking  and  thought  what  a  sensitive 
little  creature  she  was,  so  pursued  the  subject  no 
further.  He  had  not  imagined  that  the  memory  of 
such  a  long-ago  loss  could  still  be  unapproachable  with 
so  young  a  girl;  yet  it  might  only  be  the  natural 
withdrawal  of  youth  from  tragedy,  or  the  shadowed 
deeps  of  life. 

Hildred  more  than  half  expected  an  inquiry,  the 
usual  query  or  careless  hope  that  her  mother  was  well. 
Mr.  Carteret's  tone  had  been  odd,  the  hushed  quiet 
voice  of  one  who  speaks  of  the  dead  rather  than  of 
the  living.  Perhaps  he  was  a  person  who  appreciated 
the  tragedy  of  life — so  much  more  poignant  than  the 
tragedy  of  death  which  sometimes  holds  more  of 
solution  than  sorrow.  Yet  she  had  not  thought  him 
so  subtle.  He  was  a  friend  of  her  father's ;  he  knew 
the  circumstances,  perhaps  he  felt  bitterly  towards 
her  mother.  Here  was  the  clue  to  the  riddle. 

It  was  a  relief  to  enter  the  train,  to  put  aside  com- 
plexities for  the  moment,  to  face  quietly  the  nearest, 
most  imminent  fact  of  her  future — the  meeting  with 
her  father. 

It  was  Miss  Marlowe  who  gave  charming  thanks  and 
kindly  valedictions,  who  waved  gay  farewells  which 
held  a  hint  of  future  meetings.  Hildred  only  echoed 
her  gratitude,  and  smiled  her  thanks  to  the  Carterets 
as  the  train  rumbled  out  of  the  station.  She  felt  sud- 
denly and  oddly  tired.  The  heat,  the  bustle,  the 


170         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

novelty  of  sights  and  sounds,  and  last  but  supremest 
factor,  the  thought  of  the  approaching  encounter, 
wrought  upon  her  nerves  and,  in  the  reaction  of  the 
new  motion,  wearied  her  now  that  she  had  time  for 
realisation. 


"  Quiet  little  thing,  that  girl  of  Ivors's, ' '  said  Carteret 

to  his  wife.     "Not  much  to  say  for  herself,  like  her 

poor  mother." 

"I  thought  her  a  very  nice  girl,"  returned  Mrs. 

Carteret.     "She  looked  at  me  so  wistfully  when  I 

was  talking  about  the  children." 

"The  other  woman  is  a  beautiful  creature. " 

"Yes,  for  those  who  admire  that  black  and  white 

style." 

"  My  dear  Nell,  you  talk  as  if  she  were  an  etching. " 
Mrs.  Carteret  smiled.     "Oh,  no.     She  's  a  woman, 

and  an  unsatisfied  one  at  that." 
"How  on  earth  do  you  know?" 
"  I  saw  it  in  her  eyes, "  said  Mrs.  Carteret. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE   PAST  CAN   NEVER  DIE 

LOOK  at  that  clump  of  palms  against  the  pink 
evening  sky!"  cried  Miss  Marlowe. 

"  Yes, "  said  Hildred  tonelessly. 

Silence  fell,  and  later  on  the  night.  The  moon  rose, 
and  one  traveller  at  least  felt  a  sense  of  exhilaration  in 
rushing  through  the  desert  by  its  light. 

A  train  rushing  through  a  desert!  Could  anything 
be  more  incongruous?  No,  Hesper  Marlowe  decided, 
not  even  an  electric  tramway  to  the  Pyramids.  A 
symbol  of  the  ingenuity  of  man,  puffing  defiance  at  its 
victory  over  the  immemorial  sands,  tarnishing  the 
clarity  of  the  sky  with  its  smoky  breath  for  the  one 
puny  instant  of  its  passing. 

Once  out  of  the  blue  dusk  came  a  camel  with  a  dark- 
cloaked  rider,  led  by  a  figure  in  white;  once  a  stretch 
of  water  gleamed  by  the  track,  its  surface  covered  with 
water-lilies  which  shone  like  blossoms  of  silver  in  the 
moonlight;  here  and  there  loomed  a  cluster  of  flat- 
topped  mud-huts,  with  a  group  of  Arabs  round  a  fire 
of  leaping  flames,  seen  for  one  vivid  moment. 

The  name  of  Tel-el-Kebir  on  a  station  lamp-post 
provoked  another  piquant  contrast  between  its  smug 
modernity  and  the  vision  of  blood  and  battle  which  it 
evoked. 

171 


172         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

Hesper  Marlowe  swam  on  a  wave  of  enchantment. 

But  after  a  while  the  wave  broke  to  reality  at  the 
silent  assertion  of  loneliness  and  aloofness  made  by 
the  figure  at  the  other  end  of  the  carriage,  shrunk  in  its 
corner,  looking  mutely  out  into  the  night. 

Hesper  longed  to  comfort  but  shrank  from  intrusion. 
She  had  spiritual  antennas,  she  sometimes  felt,  which 
could  sense  an  atmosphere,  or  a  change  of  atmosphere 
unnoted  by  the  less  subtle;  and  she  felt  instinctively 
that  Hildred  Ivors  was  in  need  of  the  tangible  comfort 
which  a  human  personality  alone  could  give  at  the 
moment.  She  was  not  in  a  mood  receptive  to  in- 
fluences of  the  spirit.  Sympathy  made  visible  was 
what  she  needed.  Still,  Hesper,  protective  of  her  own 
reticence,  hesitated  lest  in  touching  she  should  hurt  or 
even  jar. 

"It 's  only  a  prick  to  my  pride  if  she  snubs  me, 
after  all,"  she  thought.  "And  I  may  lose  an  oppor- 
tunity of  helping  her  if  I  don't  try. " 

Acting  on  her  impulse  she  rose  and  went  to  Hil- 
dred's  end  of  the  carriage. 

Sitting  down  opposite  her,  she  plunged  with  warm 
abruptness. 

"You  're  fretting,  child.  What  is  it?  Don't  tell 
me  if  you  'd  rather  not,  or  unless  you  think  I  could 
help  you."  She  stretched  out  her  hand. 

Hildred  clasped  it  gratefully. 

"That  was  just  what  I  wanted,"  she  said,  with  a 
catch  in  her  breath — "the  touch  of  a  nice  warm  hand 
like  yours.  No,  I  'm  not  really  fretting.  I  feel  a  little 
tired,  and  rather  lonely,  and  distinctly  nervous." 

"Is  it  at  the  thought  of  seeing  your  father?" 

Hildred  nodded. 


The  Past  Can  Never  Die         173 

"Ah,  don't  be  nervous  about  that.  Sure,  the  poor 
man  must  be  longing  to  see  you.  If  you  only  heard 
the  way  Mr.  Carteret  was  singing  his  praises  this 
afternoon — saying  how  charming  he  was,  and  how 
beautiful  his  pictures  were,  and  how  much  every  one 
thought  of  them!  But  it 's  absurd  for  me  to  be  telling 
you  all  this!" 

" It 's  not.  It 's  delightful, "  cried  Hildred.  "And 
you  are  good  and  kind — a  true  friend.  Go  on,  I  love 
your  voice." 

"And  me  brogue?"  asked  Miss  Marlowe,  exaggerat- 
ing it. 

"  And  your  brogue,  if  you  like  to  call  it  so, "  answered 
the  girl,  warmed,  comforted,  and  ready  to  hear 
sweetest  music  in  the  soft  Irish  tones. 

"Sure,  'tis  flattering  me,  you  are!  "laughed  Hesper 
Marlowe.  Then  with  a  sudden  change  of  mood  and 
voice — "Ah,  child,  I  'd  give  the  world  itself  if  I  were 
going  to  see  my  own  father  this  night. " 

II  T_    !,_  ^  »> 

Is  he 1 

"Yes,  he  's  dead.  The  only  one  in  the  world  I  had 
to  love. "  She  paused,  then  continued  as  though  the 
words  were  forced  from  her.  "Five  years  since  I  was 
left  without  one  of  my  very  own. " 

There  was  a  repressed  longing,  an  undercurrent  of 
hunger  in  the  simple  words  which  more  than  accounted 
for  that  which  Mrs.  Carteret  had  read  in  her  eyes. 

"Have  you  no  other  relations?"  queried  Hildred 
softly. 

"None  nearer  than  cousins,  and  not  dear  at  that. 
I  had  an  aunt,  near  enough  akin  to  be  able  to  rob  me 
of  what  I  loved  best.  Yet,  poor  soul,  I  don't  suppose 
she  counted  it  robbing.  I  suppose  she  thought  she 


174         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

paid  for  what  she  had  stolen.  Paid?"  She  gave  a 
little  mirthless  laugh,  so  dry  and  empty  that  it  was 
not  even  an  echo  of  the  laughter  Hildred  knew. 

"Tell  me,  if  it  doesn't  hurt  you,"  said  the  girl, 
touched  and  interested,  yet  eager  to  keep  at  bay  the 
thought  of  her  own  impending  ordeal. 

"Shall  I?  I  believe  it  would  do  me  good  to  speak 
after  all  these  bitter  years.  It 's  not  much  of  a  story, 
as  a  story."  She  stopped  as  if  she  found  speech 
difficult.  Then  she  squeezed  the  hand  she  held,  and 
went  on,  gaining  fluency  as  the  scroll  of  the  past 
unrolled  before  her. 

"If  you  don't  know  your  father  at  all  it  will  be 
difficult  for  you  to  understand  what  mine  was  to  me. 
Until  I  was  about  seventeen  we  were  all  in  all  to  one 
another.  I  was  all  he  had,  you  see,  for  my  mother 
died  soon  after  I  was  born.  That  was  why  he  called 
me  Hesper,  his  evening  star.  Well —  "  her  voice  broke 
a  little —  "I  shone,  I  twinkled  for  him  as  long  as  I 
could.  He  was  very  delicate,  very  dependent  on  those 
around  him,  always  immersed  in  his  books  and  studies. 
Then  the  crash  came.  All  his  money  went  at  once,  a 
bank  failure  and  some  bad  investments ;  he  was  no  man 
of  business.  We  had  n't  a  penny  left.  That  was 
where  my  aunt  came  in.  She  was  his  step-sister, 
years  older  than  he  was,  and  rich.  She  had  reared  him 
from  the  time  he  was  a  baby,  and  loved  him  with  a  sort 
of  fierce  jealousy  that  would  have  all  or  nothing.  First 
she  hated  my  mother,  then  she  hated  me  for  taking  him 
from  her.  Now  she  came  forward,  offered  him  a  home 
with  her,  promised  to  see  that  his  life  was  still  set  in 
pleasant  places,  said  she  would  have  me  trained  so 
that  I  could  earn  my  own  living.  ...  I  was  good  at 


The  Past  Can  Never  Die         175 

music,  so  I  chose  that  path.  If  you  love  music  you 
will  know  something  of  the  daily  grind,  the  frequent 
torture  it  becomes  when  you  teach  it  to  stupid  child- 
ren week  in — week  out.  I  often  think  that  those  who 
really  care  for  music  should  never  teach  it,  but  that 's 
neither  here  nor  there.  .  .  .  She  kept  him  entirely  to 
herself.  Even  in  the  holidays  she  would  scarcely  let 
me  go  near  him.  But  he  always  loved  me  best.  I 
know,  I  know  he  loved  me  best. "  It  was  an  exceeding 
bitter  cry,  questioning  even  while  it  asserted. 

"Of  course  he  did,"  Hildred  murmured. 

"Then  when  I  had  been  teaching  for  about  eight 
years  he — died.  A  year  later  she  died  also,  and  left 
me  all  her  money;  much,  much  more  than  any  one 
had  suspected.  Oh,  why  had  it  not  come  sooner? 
Why — ?"  She  stopped,  drew  rein  on  passionate 
speech  and  curbed  her  voice  again.  "For  a  whole 
year  I  could  not  bear  to  touch  it.  It  seemed  poisoned 
to  me;  it  had  bought  and  sold  my  youth.  Then  my 
health  broke  down,  and  on  recovery  I  took  a  saner 
view.  Call  it  common-sense  or  apathy,  it  does  n't 
matter.  Nothing  seemed  to  matter  then.  There 
was  no  use  in  letting  all  that  money  go  to  waste,  so  I 
took  it.  I  tried  to  blot  out  bitter  thoughts  from  it. 
I  call  it  my  Wishing  Cap,  because  it  transports  me  to 
all  the  places  I  've  always  wanted  to  see,  and — I  don't 
spend  it  all  on  myself, "  she  ended  simply. 

Hildred  could  not  know  the  many  self -giving  chari- 
ties that  the  words  implied,  but  the  unexpected  recital 
opened  up  a  new  vista  of  thought.  Was  tragedy 
hidden  under  every  calm  exterior?  Where  she  had 
visioned  laughing  valleys,  orchard  slopes,  and  sun- 
swept  heights,  lo!  a  volcano,  still  smouldering. 


176         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

Arab  Lebarte,  her  mother,  and  now  this  apparently 
light-hearted  irresponsible  Hesper  Marlowe! 

Did  she  possess  some  hidden  key  with  which  to 
unlock  confidence,  she  wondered,  or  was  it  only  chance 
which  had  thrust  her  unexpectant  into  the  inner  cham- 
bers of  these  two  women's  lives?  Of  course  her  own 
trouble  differed  from  theirs;  it  was  triangular,  inevit- 
able, it  touched  her  father,  her  mother,  and  herself. 

The  train  slackened.  The  lights  of  a  city  shone  in 
orange  sparks  through  the  blue  dusk.  With  a  start 
she  realised  that  she  had  come  to  another  turning- 
point. 

"Thank  you  for  telling  me  this.  It  has  helped," 
she  said  in  low  tones. 

"Yes,"  answered  Hesper  Marlowe.  "I  think  it 
always  helps  to  find  that  our  fellow-creatures  are  ordin- 
ary human  beings  just  like  ourselves,  that  they  have 
the  same  flaws  and  feelings,  the  same  pricks  and  balms. 
And  you  must  n't  run  away  with  the  idea,  child,  that 
because  of  what  I  Ve  said  I  don't  love  any  one. 
Indeed,  I  do.  There  are  always  people  to  love,  even 
if  the  little  ivory  shrine  is  empty. " 

"You,  at  any  rate,  have  memories,"  Hildred 
murmured. 

"Yes,  thank  God.  I  try  to  cherish  the  good  ones, 
and  root  out  the  bad.  One  has  often  a  lot  of  weeding 
to  do,"  she  added,  with  a  sudden  whimsical  smile. 

Hildred  rose  and  tried  to  see  herself  in  the  mirror. 

"How  do  I  look?  Please  don't  think  me  vain,  but 
I  want  the  first  impression  to  be  a  good  one. "  Her 
hands  trembled  a  little  as  she  adjusted  her  veil. 

"I  think  it  will." 

The  train  stopped.     The  station  seemed  full  of  light 


The  Past  Can  Never  Die 


177 


and  confusion  after  the  monotonous  rushing  through 
the  night. 

Hildred  stepped  down  to  the  platform  in  Miss  Mar- 
lowe's wake,  shrinking  aside  from  the  crowd  of  Arabs 
who  poured  out  of  the  third-class  carriages — a  crowd 
so  multi-coloured  in  its  blue  and  white  and  black 
draperies,  punctuated  with  the  inevitable  crimson  of 
the  fez,  or  tarbtish,  that  in  her  quiet  grey  attire  she 
looked  like  a  moth  who  had  alighted  amid  a  cloud  of 
butterflies.  She  scanned  the  kaleidoscopic  bustling 
throng  to  see  if  she  could  detach  any  one  who  resem- 
bled in  the  least  her  faint  recollection  of  her  father. 

"Sir  George  Nugent  has  come  to  meet  me,"  said 
Hesper  Marlowe  in  her  ear,  "but  I  won't  leave  vou 
until " 

"Can  this  possibly  be  Hildred?"  asked  a  voice  at 
her  other  side. 

With  a  quick  apprehensive  leap  of  heart  and  pulses, 
the  girl  turned  to  meet  her  father.  There  could  be  no 
mistake  this  time.  Out  of  the  past  flashed  that  face, 
the  disappointed  lips  which  had  ejaculated : 

"She  has  not  even  a  feature!" 

He  had  grown  incredibly  younger,  it  appeared. 
The  long  intervening  years,  empty  of  wife  or  child, 
had  stolen  neither  his  youth  nor  his  air  of  debonair 
gaiety.  In  the  flickering  light  there  were  no  lines 
visible  about  the  brown  appealing  eyes  or  the  clear-cut 
handsome  mouth,  and  his  wavy  hair,  apparently 
untouched  by  autumn  frost,  added  to  his  almost 
boyish  appearance. 

To  him  tLe  past  came  back  in  one  instant's  poign- 
ance.  There  were  the  eyes,  clear  and  grey  as  rain, 
in  which  he  had  once  sought  to  read  and  solve  the 


178         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

great  mystery  of  love — eyes  which,  in  his  last  vision 
of  them  had  flashed  steel  blades  of  hatred  towards 
his  heart.  After  the  moment's  vivid  memory  he  saw 
in  this  quiet-looking  girl  the  expected  daughter;  the 
amalgam,  as  he  suddenly  realised,  of  not  only  his  life 
and  another's,  but  of  the  generations  beyond,  which 
had  contributed  to  the  complexity  of  his  and  her 
making;  a  realisation  which  comes,  when  it  does 
come  to  a  parent,  with  a  rare  and  disturbing  force. 

There  was  but  a  second's  mutual  reconnoitring 
before  Hildred  spoke. 

"Yes,  I  am  Hildred,"  she  answered,  turning  round 
to  thank  Miss  Marlowe,  who  had,  however,  slipped 
quietly  away  at  the  moment  of  encounter. 

"If  you  will  describe  your  boxes  to  me  Moussa 
will  look  after  them."  Mr.  Ivors  indicated  a  tall 
young  Arab  in  a  dull  lilac-coloured  garment  bound 
about  the  waist  with  a  striped  sash  of  yellow  and  gold, 
who,  when  he  heard  his  name,  salaamed  to  Hildred, 
and  smiled,  showing  incredibly  white  teeth. 

Hildred  described  them. 

She  had  gained  poise  and  self-control  since  the 
beginning  of  her  new  life,  and  her  air  and  manner 
showed  a  quiet  distinction  which  pleased  her  father. 
On  a  sudden  the  twisted  humour  of  the  situation 
appealed  to  the  girl.  Here  was  another  meeting 
in  another  railway-station  of  another  parent,  who 
had  to  ask  his  daughter  if  it  were  really  she?  It  was 
the  scene  at  Burnaby  tricked  out  in  altered  dress,  and 
brighter  colours,  with  a  dark-skinned  henchman, 
instead  of  the  sandy  Johnny;  so  far,  neither  real 
welcome  nor  any  warmth  of  kinship.  The  light,  the 
unfamiliar  crowd,  the  dark  faces,  the  multitudes  of 


The  Past  Can  Never  Die          179 

appraising  eyes,  the  strangeness  of  the  whole  scene, 
and  above  all  the  relaxation  of  the  long  tension  told 
on  the  girl.  She  craved  for  rest  and  quiet.  The 
sudden  thought  of  the  rosebud  room  at  Whitecot 
swam  before  her  eyes  with  the  longing  allurement  of 
the  known.  Swift  unbidden  tears  sprang  on  her 
lashes  when  her  father,  slipping  his  hand  through  her 
arm,  said  in  a  tone  of  real  kindliness: 

"Come  along,  little  girl.  You  must  be  tired  and 
hungry.  When  had  you  anything  to  eat?  "  He  drew 
her  through  the  throng,  which  seemed  to  melt  aside 
at  their  approach. 

Outside,  the  night  was  cool  and  blue,  the  sky  a 
vast  wonder  lit  by  moon  and  stars.  By  the  pavement 
an  arabiyeh,  a  small  victoria  drawn  by  two  long-tailed 
horses  and  driven  by  a  coachman  in  red  tarbtish 
awaited  them. 

"Get  in,  Hildred.  Moussa  will  follow  with  the 
luggage.  You  will  be  glad  to  get  to  bed.  Is  every- 
thing still  going  up  and  down?" 

"Oh,  no,  I  lost  that  feeling  long  ago,  but  I  confess 
that  I  am  a  little  tired." 

"You  11  have  some  supper  when  we  get  in  and 
then  you  can  go  to  bed.  To-morrow  you  '11  look  out 
on  a  new  world.  Gad,  what  would  n't  I  give  to  be 
seeing  Egypt  for  the  first  time?  And  yet  I  don't 
know.  It  does  n't  cast  its  glamour  over  you  quite  at 
first.  There  's  the  heat  and  the  noise  and  the  dust  and 
the  mosquitoes.  It  's  afterwards  that  your  eyes  are 
opened,  or  closed. "  He  spoke  half  to  himself. 

"You  would  find  a  fellow  enthusiast  in  Miss 
Marlowe,  my  travelling  companion.  Egypt  enchants 
her,  she  says." 


i8o         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

"Was  that  the  woman  who  was  talking  to  you 
when  I  came  up?" 

"Yes." 

"  She  's  beautiful. "  He  said  the  phrase  in  a  low 
hushed  voice,  as  if  it  were  a  prayer.  Perhaps  it  was, 
for  him. 

"Isn't  she?"  cried  Hildred,  warming  to  enthu- 
siasm. "She  is  as  charming  and  delightful  as  she  is 
beautiful,  and  that 's  saying  a  good  deal,  for  I  think 
she  is  the  loveliest  person  I  have  ever  seen. " 

"I  should  n't  go  quite  so  far  as  that.  She  is  cer- 
tainly beautiful,  but  her  face  is  full  of  irregularities. " 

"One  doesn't  want  marble  perfection  in  a  human 
being." 

Ivors  looked  at  his  daughter  curiously  for  a  mo- 
ment. Here  was  no  shy  bread-and-butter  miss,  but 
a  young  woman  with  opinions,  and  no  hesitation 
in  expressing  them  despite  her  surface  impression  of 
quietude. 

There  was  a  reminiscent  decision  in  her  tone.  He 
sighed  involuntarily  as  he  answered : 

"No.     Marble  perfection  is  cold,  even  in  marble." 

"What  about  the  Nike  of  Samothrace?"  queried 
Hildred,  up  in  arms  for  her  beloved  Winged  Victory. 

Her  father's  eyes  twinkled.  Here  was  an  opening 
for  a  buttoned  foil. 

"If  my  memory  doesn't  deceive  me  the  Nike  is 
fashioned  of  grey  stone,  more  human  and  less  chilling 
than  the  more  perfect  whiteness." 

Hildred  laughed.  In  the  brilliant  moonlight  her 
father  noted  the  fleeting  apple-blossom  flush. 

"Of  course  you're  right!  How  stupid  of  me!  I 
had  quite  forgotten." 


The  Past  Can  Never  Die          181 

Ivors  gave  a  sigh  of  relief.  "You  're  not  infallible 
then?  Thank  God." 

"Why?  Did  you  think  I  should  dare  to  consider 
myself  so?" 

"Most  young  people  do.  It's  one  of  the  royal 
prerogatives  of  youth. " 

As  the  carriage  rolled  along  through  the  quiet 
residential  quarters  of  Cairo,  Hildred  got  an  impression 
of  tree-shaded  roads  and  large  cream-coloured  houses 
draped  and  festooned  with  creepers — an  impression  of 
space  and  dignity  very  restful  to  her  tired  senses. 

Ivors  said  a  few  words  in  Arabic  to  the  driver,  and 
with  a  cracking  of  his  whip  he  turned  again  towards 
the  lights  and  bustle. 

"Do  you  use  many  pins,  Hildred?"  her  father 
asked  suddenly. 

The  question  would  have  seemed  irrelevant  had  not 
the  memory  of  that  other  meeting  lingered  so  persist- 
ently with  the  girl.  She  traced  the  long-spun  connec- 
tion of  the  query  by  the  light  of  her  own  reminiscence. 

"  No, "  she  answered. 

"Not  even  safety-pins?" 

She  saw  in  memory  the  end  of  one  protruding  from 
beneath  a  patent-leather  belt,  and  shook  her  head, 
smiling  in  spite  of  herself. 

"Not  even  safety-pins,"  she  said. 

"Thank  God  for  that!"  cried  Ivors  with  apparently 
unnecessary  emphasis,  as  the  carriage  drew  up  before 
a  quiet-looking  hotel  with  a  pillared  portico  and  red 
and  white  striped  awnings. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE    NILE-SONG    FROM    AFAR 

T  I ILDRED  awoke  next  morning  to  the  sound  of  an 
11  intermittent  clink-clink,  clink-clink,  clink-clink, 
which  had  something  typically  Eastern  in  its  metallic 
monotony. 

She  pushed  aside  the  white  enveloping  mosquito- 
curtains,  crept  out  of  bed,  and  peered  through  the 
green  laths  of  the  sun-shutters. 

For  the  moment  the  shady  street  seemed  empty 
of  all  but  the  acacia-trees,  each  standing  in  its  hollow 
earthen  well.  Then  she  descried  a  little  farther  up 
two  white-robed  figures  who  shrugged,  gesticulated, 
chattered,  in  an  open  doorway.  At  the  near  side  an 
Arab  had  spread  his  prayer-shawl  in  the  blot  of  shade 
cast  by  one  of  the  trees,  and  removing  his  shoes,  knelt, 
rose,  bent,  and  prostrated  himself  in  the  beautiful  and 
varied  attitudes  of  devotion.  Arabiyehs  rattled  by 
unheeded,  the  clink-clink  came  nearer  and  resolved 
itself  into  a  white-clad  lemonade-seller,  who  clipped  his 
brass  cups  together  as  he  went,  making  a  brilliant 
effect  of  colour  with  his  scarlet  shoes  and  sash  and  the 
twinkling  radiance  of  his  vessels  of  brass  and  glass. 
A  string  of  camels  laden  with  great  bundles  of  vivid 
green  clover  ambled  down  the  street  gurgling  and 

182 


The  Nile-Song  from  Afar         183 

grunting;  an  old  man  drove  a  rickety  donkey-cart 
with  a  high  open  crate  full  of  live  pigeons;  a  smart 
white  motor-car  glided  by,  adding  a  touch  of  incon- 
gruity to  the  scene,  and  still  the  Arab  prayed  on,  iso- 
lated in  an  utter  detachment  of  spirit  from  the  world 
around  him,  visioning  Mecca  perhaps  as  his  forehead 
touched  the  dim  purples  and  reds  of  the  shawl  on  the 
ground. 

This  first  real  glimpse  of  Cairo  held  Hildred  en- 
thralled. She  stood  there,  barefoot,  peeping  through 
the  green  shutters  until  a  tapping  at  the  door  and  the 
sound  of  her  father's  voice  asking  if  she  were  ready  for 
breakfast  brought  her  back  again  to  a  world  of  baths 
and  meals.  She  answered  hurriedly. 

"Very  well,  I  will  send  Moussa  for  you  in  twenty 
minutes,"  said  her  father,  through  the  door,  "which, 
being  interpreted,  means  half  an  hour. " 

"  No,  it  does  n't, "  returned  Hildred  promptly.  "  It 
means  twenty  minutes,  and  not  a  second  more. " 

"How  I  '11  crow  if  you  take  twenty-five,"  said  her 
father  boyishly. 

"I  shan't  take  twenty-five." 

"Good  God,  how  like  her  mother  that  sounded!" 
thought  Ivors  as  he  turned  down  the  corridor.  "The 
voice,  the  very  intonation,  poor  Harriet  was  always 
right." 

So  was  Hildred  upon  this  occasion,  for  she  was 
dressed  and  ready  to  go  down  when  she  opened  the 
door  to  Moussa's  tap. 

"Good-morning,"  she  said. 

"  Good-morning,  ya  Sitt. "  His  teeth  flashed  in  the 
Arab's  ready  smile.  He  held  a  pink  rose  in  his  hand. 
"From  the  master,"  he  said  in  laborious  English. 


184         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

Hildred  took  the  flower  and  fastened  it  into  her 
belt,  flushing  at  her  father's  pretty  attention,  as  she 
followed  Moussa  along  the  corridor. 

He  threw  open  a  door  with  a  flourish,  and  announced 
her  in  Arabic. 

The  room  was  large  and  lofty.  Two  high,  shaded 
windows  opened  on  to  a  balcony.  At  one  end  her 
father  sat  at  a  round  table,  reading  letters. 

He  looked  up,  and  rose  at  her  entry.  Once  more  the 
question  of  greeting  puzzled  the  girl,  but  only  for  a 
moment,  as  Ivors  came  forward  and  taking  her  hands 
lightly  kissed  her  cheek.  There  was  a  pleasant  accept- 
ance of  relationship  in  the  action  which  contrasted 
cheeringly  with  her  mother's  arm's-length  attitude. 
With  a  little  sigh  of  relief  she  realised  that  for  the 
present  at  least  she  might  lay  down  her  weapons  of 
defence. 

"Well,  did  I  take  longer  than  the  twenty  minutes?" 
she  asked  with  a  little  air  of  triumph  which  radiated 
from  her  becomingly. 

Ivors  surveyed  the  dainty  detail  of  her  white  attire 
with  satisfaction. 

"No,"  he  returned.  "I  see  you  are  wearing  the 
prize  for  punctuality.  I  told  Moussa  not  to  give  it  to 
you  unless  you  were  ready.  But  don't  do  it  too  often." 

"Do  what?"  she  asked,  puzzled. 

"Don't  be  too  often  right,  or  rather  don't  put  me 
too  often  in  the  wrong, "  he  answered  with  a  plaintive 
whimsicality  which  brought  back  to  the  girl  one  of  her 
mother's  indictments. 

The  easiness  of  his  attitude  puzzled  Hildred.  Both 
he  and  her  mother  accepted  her  as  an  instant  fact  in 
their  lives  to  be  judged  by  present  knowledge  alone. 


The  Nile-Song  from  Afar        185 

Past  thoughts,  deeds,  aspirations,  environment  seemed 
to  be  taken  for  granted  and  left  utterly  unprobed; 
it  was,  as  Miss  Marlowe  had  said,  with  the  finished 
product  that  they  were  even  temporarily  concerned. 
What  had  gone  to  the  making,  the  moulding,  the 
shaping  was  apparently  not  to  their  interest,  and  the 
superficiality  of  such  an  attitude  provoked  the  girl 
to  a  sort  of  wondering  despisal.  How  could  fifteen 
years  be  blotted  out  so  utterly? 

Still,  while  the  waters  now  seemed  so  smooth  she 
would  do  nothing  to  provoke  a  storm.  It  would  be 
pleasant  to  drift  on  in  a  sunny  present  while  she  might. 
Her  presence  in  the  big  room  produced  an  impression 
of  personal  domesticity  in  Ivors  to  which  he  had  long 
been  a  stranger.  It  was  pleasant  to  look  up  from  his 
letters  to  see  her  sitting  opposite,  a  quiet  and  so  far 
unobtrusive  personality  of  whom  to  invite  comment  or 
query  when  the  mood  prompted  him. 

Yes,  his  daughter  was  a  surprise;  her  aplomb,  her 
touch  of  distinction,  her  lack  of  schoolgirlishness  or 
primness,  and  above  all  the  unexpected  attractiveness 
of  her  appearance  charmed  and  pleased  him. 

"  We  shall  not  be  long  in  Cairo, "  he  said,  holding  up 
a  letter.  "The  idea  delights  me,  though  the  ancients 
say  that 

'  He  who  hath  not  seen  Cairo  hath  not  seen  the  world. 
Her  soil  is  gold; 
Her  Nile  is  a  marvel; 

Her  women  are  as  the  bright-eyed  Houris  of  Paradise; 
Her  houses  are  palaces,  and  her  air  is  soft,  with  an  odour  above 

aloes,  refreshing  the  heart; 

And  how  should  Cairo  be  otherwise  when  she  is  the  mother  of  the 
world?'" 


1 86         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

"Her  houses  are  palaces  certainly,"  said  Hildred. 

"And  her  Nile  is  a  marvel.  Ah,  Hildred,  wait  until 
the  ears  of  your  spirit  are  opened  to  hear  the  Song  of 
the  Nile." 

"Miss  Marlowe  said  that  she  could  hear  the  voices 
of  Egypt  with  her  spirit  sense. " 

"  Miss  Marlowe  must  be  a  woman  of  understanding. 
Yes,  there  was  something  rare  about  that  moonlight 
face  in  its  masses  of  night-black  hair.  Those  who 
have  ears  to  hear  are  generally  permitted  to  hear.  I 
should  like  to  know  if  she  will  hear  it  too. " 

"Hear  what?"  asked  Hildred,  interested.  She 
saw  in  the  clearer  light  of  day  that  faint  lines  were 
etched  at  the  corners  of  her  father's  eyes  and  about  his 
mouth,  and  that  his  fair  abundant  hair  was  slightly 
frosted.  Still,  the  enthusiasm  which  irradiated  his 
face  enhanced  his  boyish  look,  and  emphasised  for  the 
girl  the  great  gulf  of  temperament  which  had  separated 
him  from  her  mother.  The  eternal  and  piteous  con- 
flict of  temperament!  She  was  dimly  beginning  to 
perceive  its  potentialities. 

"The  song  of  the  Nile,"  answered  Ivors.  "The 
great  key-note  without  which  all  the  other  voices  of 
Egypt  would  be  mute;  the  song  of  the  gods,  the  song 
of  fertility,  the  mighty  song  which  in  the  lost  centuries 
called  life  out  of  death  and  order  out  of  chaos,  evolving 
by  the  necessities  it  created,  a  fine  civilisation  from 
primitive  beginnings." 

"What  does  it  say?"  the  girl  queried  softly. 

"Ah,  who  can  tell  that?  Have  you  ever  seen 
through  the  mist  of  an  opal  a  fire  flashing  that  eludes 
and  evades,  that  is  and  that  is  not,  that  is  never  the 
same  to  any  in  flame  or  colour,  living  green  to  one, 


The  Nile-Song  from  Afar         187 

leaping  blue  to  another,  to  a  third  red  as  the  heart  of 
light  itself?  So  with  the  song  of  the  Nile.  I  try  to 
paint  it,  pah!  Who  could  paint  a  mystery  that  is 
compact  of  colour,  of  sound,  of  sunlight  and  moonlight 
and  starlight,  of  something  that  is  none  yet  all — more 
definite  than  to-day,  more  evanescent  than  yesterday, 
more  unattainab  e  than  to-morrow — ineffable,  intan- 
gible? One  might  as  well  try  to  clip  the  wings  of  a 
dream  or  use  a  rainbow  as  one's  paint-box.  And 
yet,  I  suppose  to  an  artist  all  things  are  painta- 
ble.  I  wonder?  I  wonder?  I  am  always  won- 
dering. Life  to  me  is  a  pageant  of  beauty  and 
mystery  with  an  enormous  question-mark  after  each 
new  thing. " 

He  paced  the  room.  Here  spoke  the  dreamer,  the 
pursuer  of  visions,  the  archer  of  mist-wraiths,  whose 
eager  questing  feet  trod  in  the  footsteps  of  eternal 
youth. 

"  I  should  like  to  see  some  of  your  pictures. " 

He  stopped,  and  turned  with  a  frown. 

"Now  you  Ve  touched  the  bubble  of  my  dreams 
and  it  is  gone,  the  beautiful  thing!"  he  said  quite 
crossly,  hearing  the  clank  of  the  invisible  chains  which 
bound  him  to  the  stupid  necessities  of  every  day. 
"  No,  you  would  n't  like  my  pictures.  You  would  n't 
understand  them.  Half  the  people  who  buy  them 
only  do  so  because  I  happen  to  be  the  fashion.  I 
despise  them.  I  loathe  them. " 

"Yet  you  sell  them  your  dreams,"  said  Hildred, 
pricked  at  his  assumption  of  her  ignorance. 

Ivors  looked  at  her  with  a  regard  compact  of 
admiration  and  dislike. 

"Your  remark  displays  a  pleasing  lack  of  practi- 


1 88         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

cality,"  he  said,  "as  well  as  a  joy  in  finding  a  weak 
spot  in  my  armour  which  is  disagreeably  reminiscent. " 

The  girl  reddened,  feeling  oddly  stung. 

"I  don't  want  to  find  weak  spots,"  she  half 
whispered,  looking  down. 

Ivors's  brow  cleared.  "Oh,  don't  you?  Well, 
that  's  a  relief.  It  's  worn  very  thin  in  places  and  you 
would  have  no  difficulty  in  poking  your  little  fingers 
through.  You  've  pretty  hands.  I  noticed  them  last 
night.  They  're  shaped  like  mine,  so  you  must  have  a 
dash  of  the  artistic  temperament  in  you. " 

Hildred  looked  up.  "Oh,  more  than  a  dash — 
a  splash. " 

"God  pity  you  then,  poor  child,"  he  said,  with  a 
sudden  change  of  tone.  "I  can  never  make  up  my 
mind  as  to  whether  such  a  gift  is  not  more  curse  than 
blessing.  And  yet — I  wonder?  .  .  .  Well,  what  are 
you  going  to  do  with  yourself  to-day?" 

The  girl's  mind  fled  back  to  the  first  morning  at 
Whitecot.  What  a  curious  repetition  of  events  in 
so  different  a  setting!  Here  there  was  no  garden,  no 
Katherine,  not  even  a  dog.  Was  she  to  be  left  quite 
to  her  own  resources  in  a  strange  land?  She,  too, 
wondered.  Ivors  studied  her  face,  and  awaited  her 
answer  with  some  curiosity.  He  was  more  experi- 
mentally inclined  than  her  other  parent,  and  if  the 
proper  study  of  mankind  be  man  his  curriculum  had 
included  a  varied  course  of  the  subtler  portion  of  the 
race. 

"I  shall  unpack  first,"  she  answered,  feeling  more 
inclined  to  cry  than  to  laugh, "and  then  I  shall  amuse 
myself  by  sitting  on  the  balcony  and  watching  the 
people. " 


The  Nile-Song  from  Afar         189 

Ivors  smiled.  ' '  Admirable  decision !  In  your  place 
half  a  hundred  vaguenesses  would  have  flitted  through 
my  mind,  and  I  should  not  have  known  either  what  to 
do  or  what  to  say.  I  only  want  you  to  fill  in  time 
until  the  afternoon  when  I  shall  take  you  for  a  drive. " 

Her  face  cleared.     "That  will  be  delightful." 

"  Moussa  will  bring  you  your  lunch.  Don't  unpack 
too  much,  for  we  shall  only  be  a  day  or  two  here.  I  've 
had  an  invitation  for  us  both  to  go  up  the  Nile " 

"Can  it  possibly  be  from  the  Nugents?"  cried 
Mildred  with  a  flash  of  inspiration. 

"Why?     Do  you  know  the  Nugents?" 

"No,  no,"  said  the  girl  eagerly,  her  quick  blushes 
coming  and  going,  "but  Miss  Marlowe  was  going  to  join 
them  and  I  wondered  if  anything  so  delightful  could 
possibly  happen  as  that  you  should  know  them  too. " 

"The  unexpected,"  said  Ivors  sententiously,  "is 
what  always  happens,  of  course.  The  invitation  is 
from  the  Nugents,  who  happen  to  be  very  good  friends 
of  mine.  We  are  to  join  them  on  Thursday.  The 
Arabs  say  that  is  a  lucky  day  and  call  it  'el-mubarak,' 
the  blessed.  Sir  George  wants  me  to  do  two  pictures 
for  him — Nile  pictures,  of  course.  He  wants  them  for 
a  birthday  present  for  his  wife." 

"When  is  her  birthday?" 

"  I  have  n't  the  least  idea.  Besides  it  does  n't 
matter.  It  will  be,  like  a  royal  birthday,  whenever  I 
choose  to  finish  the  pictures;  that  is,  if  pictures  like 
anything  else  in  life  ever  can  be  finished.  How  do  you 
like  the  notion?" 

"Which  notion?" 

"Don't  be  so  literal.  I  mean  the  notion  of  going 
up  the  Nile,  of  course." 


190         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

"There  's  no  ' of  course, ' "  Hildred  retorted.  "You 
were  just  descanting  on  the  subject  of  things  in  life 
never  being  finished.  How  was  I  to  know  that  you 
had  leaped  back  to  the  Nile  trip  again?" 

Ivors  laughed.  His  daughter  was  beginning  to 
amuse  him.  "You  '11  have  to  get  used  to  my  grass- 
hopper-like proclivities,"  he  said.  "Just  watch  how 
I  jump  and  in  a  little  while  you  '11  learn  to  know 
exactly  where  I  alight. " 

"Shall  I?"  she  returned  dubiously.     "I  doubt  it." 

"So  do  I,"  said  Ivors.     "Few  people  ever  do." 

"Do  what?" 

"Know  where  I  alight,"  he  answered.  "Well,  I 
don't  much  care  so  long  as  I  land  on  a  dahabieh  on 
the  Nile.  It's  the  perfection  of  motion,  a  dahabieh 
towed  by  a  launch.  You  glide  along  as  if  it  were  a 
gondola.  There  is  no  throbbing,  no  jerking,  no 
puffing. " 

"It  sounds  heavenly.  And  when  it  includes  Miss 
Marlowe — oh,  she  is  so  nice!" 

"Nice  is  an  odious,  much  misused  young-ladylike 
word.  Can't  you  think  of  a  better  one?  It 's  nearly 
as  bad  as  sweet."  He  went  to  a  bookshelf  and  took 
down  a  dictionary.  "'Nice — foolishly  simple;  over- 
particular ;  hard  to  please ;  marking  or  taking  notice  of 
very  small  differences;  easily  injured;  fastidious.' 
Do  any  of  these  terms  apply  to  your  friend?" 

"She  is  rather  fastidious,  I  think,  but  has  the  word 
no  other  meanings?" 

"Well,  the  dictionary  gives  dainty,  agreeable, 
delightful,  as  well,"  said  Ivors,  shutting  and  replacing 
the  book. 

"Won't  they  do?    I  think  I  shall  stick  to  nice," 


The  Nile-Song  from  Afar         191 

answered  Hildred.  "It 's  comprehensive  and  she  is 
really  nice." 

"Right  again,"  groaned  Ivors.  "In  spite  of  my 
warning,  I  prefer  to  think  of  your  friend  as  a  beautiful 
strand  of  ivory  and  ebony  which  Fate  is  weaving  into 
our  lives." 

"You  can't  weave  ivory  and  ebony,"  objected 
Hildred. 

"Yes,  you  can,  or  rather  Fate  can,  if  I  choose 
to  say  so." 

"You  had  better  compile  a  dictionary  for  yourself 
then, "  she  retorted,  exhilarated  to  the  point  of  unusual 
buoyancy  at  the  prospect  before  her. 

His  face  changed,  aged,  and  whitened.  Out  of  the 
past  those  innocent-sounding  and  now  jesting  words 
stabbed  at  him  like  a  lance.  Once,  in  white  rage,  his 
wife  had  flung  them  at  him  tauntingly.  It  had  been 
their  first  quarrel  and  had  owned  a  sharpness  which 
the  recurrence  of  similar  scenes  had  blunted.  Harsh 
words,  loud  voices  jarred  inexpressibly  on  him,  hurt 
him  like  a  blow.  It  had  been  a  wounding  revelation, 
never  to  be  forgotten.  Was  it  some  vibration  echoing 
through  eternity  which  brought  the  words  to  his 
child's  lips?  He  turned  away. 

Hildred  sat  wondering  how  she  had  offended.  Per- 
haps her  father  did  not  like  such  freedom  of  speech. 
Then  she  suddenly  remembered  what  her  mother  had 
said  that  morning  when  Dr.  Lisle  had  found  her 
worshipping  the  Invisible  in  the  visible  almond- 
tree. 

"In  my  early  days  I  had  much  instruction  in  the 
nice  discrimination  of  words,  their  selection,  their 
meaning,  their  shades  of  meaning " 


192         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

Had  she  pierced  through  a  hole  in  the  armour 
unawares? 

"I  am  sorry,"  she  faltered. 

'"T  is  n't  you,"  he  said,  forcing  a  smile.  "It's 
Fate,  beating  me  with  a  stick  of  ivory  and  ebony  made 
out  of  those  strands  to  which  you  objected!  Take 
care  of  yourself,  child.  I  '11  call  for  you  about  three. " 

He  came  back  and  tapped  her  cheek;  then  left  her 
to  her  own  devices  for  five  long  hours. 


CHAPTER  V 
LIFE'S  WHEEL 

AS  Hildred  went  to  her  room  she  came  face  to 
face  with  her  father  in  the  corridor.  There  was 
a  touch  of  the  picturesque  in  the  brown  tie  which 
exactly  matched  his  eyes,  and  the  jaunty  angle  of  his 
Panama  hat,  which  he  removed  at  sight  of  her.  It 
struck  her  that  he  was  the  only  man  she  had  ever  seen 
who  could  wear  such  headgear  with  any  distinction. 
He  owned  just  the  requisite  touch  of  debonair  buoy- 
ancy for  its  assumption.  He  was  distinctly  a  person- 
able companion,  this  jaunty  unknown  father  who  was 
flitting  off  she  knew  not  where,  to  meet  she  knew  not 
whom,  to  return — yes,  about  three. 

Only  for  the  stirring  of  the  blood-tie  she  would 
have  been  shaken  by  a  passion  of  fear  and  loneliness. 
As  it  was  she  set  herself  to  practise  patience,  Dr. 
Lisle's  art,  she  thought  with  sudden  warmth. 

"I  was  just  coming  back,"  said  Ivors,  "to  tell  you 
that  if  you  care  to  look  at  them  there  is  a  portfolio  of 
my  sketches  on  the  lowest  shelf  of  the  bookcase.  They 
are — well,  some  of  the  dreams  I  do  not  sell, "  he  added 
in  a  lower  tone. 

"Thank  you,"  she  replied  in  the  same  key,  "I  will 
be  very  careful — of  the  olive  branch. " 

He  flashed  a  glance  at  her;  then  he  smiled.     It  was 

13  193 


194        The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

a  brilliant,  humorous,  whimsical  smile  which  had  won 
for  him  many  friends  and  the  condonation  of  many 
faults. 

"Poor  little  dove!  It  was  good  of  you  not  to 
peck." 

He  kissed  her  cheek  lightly  and  was  gone,  feeling 
that  he  had  successfully  arranged  for  the  filling  of  her 
empty  hours. 

After  Hildred's  temporary  unpacking  she  went  back 
to  her  father's  sitting-room. 

The  table  was  cleared  and  a  great  bowl  of  roses 
stood  in  its  centre.  She  went  to  the  bookcase  for  the 
portfolio  and,  laying  it  on  the  table,  opened  it  with  a 
feeling  of  pleasurable  excitement,  which  faded  a  little 
as  she  took  out  sketch  after  sketch. 

They  were  mere  hints  of  cloud  and  light  effects, 
shadows  on  desert  sands,  melting  tones  of  colour  in  a 
patch  of  flowing  water,  exquisite  in  their  dreamy 
nuances  of  pearl,  pale  rose,  and  amethyst,  silver, 
mist-grey,  and  hyacinth,  but  vague,  intangible  as  the 
song  of  which  he  had  spoken.  They  were  the  nearest 
things  to  dreams  made  visible  that  Hildred  had  ever 
seen,  but,  like  most  dreams,  they  were  too  elusive, 
too  indefinite  to  produce  any  effect  more  real  than 
the  echo  of  a  whispered  promise.  In  their  lovely 
opaline  mists  of  colour  they  reminded  her  of  the 
Turner  sketches  but  they  were  even  less  tangible 
than  they. 

One  was  an  effect  of  sand-storm — a  whirling,  biscuit- 
coloured  cloud  of  dust.  As  one  gazed,  the  shadowy 
figure  of  a  Bedouin  on  a  camel  seemed  to  emerge. 
Then  it  faded,  and  one  was  not  certain  that  one  had 
ever  seen  it,  that  it  was  not  a  swirl  of  dun  spray. 


Life's  Wheel 


Another  was  a  fragment  of  blue  sky  across  which 
trailed  a  scarf  of  cloud  tinged  with  glowing  rose; 
another  a  stretch  of  peach-coloured  sand  with  white 
splashes  that  looked  like  birds  on  it.  These  were  the 
only  three  in  which  she  could  decipher  any  subject. 
The  rest  were  faint  effects  of  colour,  as  if  he  had  cap- 
tured the  rainbow  of  which  he  had  spoken,  dipped  it 
into  moonlight  to  soften  its  brilliance,  and  then  used  it 
as  his  palette,  from  which  he  evoked  the  dream-shapes 
which  he  called  sketches. 

She  looked  at  them  for  a  long  time;  then  closed 
and  replaced  the  portfolio,  and  went  out  on  the 
balcony  to  see  the  throbbing  colour  of  the  living 
East. 

There  was  something  attractive  about  her  father, 
though  the  sense  of  estrangement  and  the  gulf  of  un- 
connected years  yawned  between  them  too  deeply  for 
the  tentative  frail  bridges  of  either  to  span  as  yet; 
the  fire  of  resentment  still  smouldered;  through  its 
smoke  Hildred  looked  and  tried  to  judge  dispassion- 
ately. Her  father's  charm  was  more  difficult  to  com- 
bat than  her  mother's  hardness;  yet  in  her  desire  for 
fairness  she  felt  the  impulses  bequeathed  by  each 
struggling  within  her  to  the  point  of  bewilderment. 
With  a  smile  too  bitter  for  her  young  lips  she  reflected 
that  her  mother  had  found  her  too  dreamy  and 
romantic,  while  to  her  father  she  appeared  to  be  pro- 
saically literal  and  unimaginative.  Was  she  a  nega- 
tive then,  produced  by  some  whimsical  inversion  of 
Fate,  by  these  two  very  distinct  affirmatives? 

A  shrill  piping  and  the  throbbing  of  drums  caught 
her  ear  and  diverted  her  from  her  introspection. 
She  leaned  farther  over  the  balcony,  whose  scarlet 


196        The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

and  white  awning  shaded  her  pleasantly,  and  seemed 
to  throw  her  English  fairness  into  stronger  relief. 

Down  a  narrow  side-street,  which  led  to  one  of  the 
native  quarters,  went  an  Arab  procession  of  the 
poorer  class.  Here  were  no  musicians  on  camels, 
red-tufted,  and  gorgeously  trapped,  jingling  with 
adornments  of  beads  and  shells,  but  a  few  white-robed 
men  on  foot  playing  their  squealing  pipes  and  beating 
small  fish-skin-covered  drums  with  all  the  solemnity 
that  befitted  the  occasion.  Round  them  little  children 
dressed  in  single  garments  of  yellow,  blue,  or  pink, 
ran  and  capered ;  behind  followed  rickety  carts  bearing 
the  household  furniture;  on  top  of  the  first  sat  a  veiled 
woman  holding  a  mirror,  evidently  a  precious  posses- 
sion, in  her  lap.  Then  came  two  arabiyehs,  crowded 
with  natives,  and  a  closed  carriage  covered  with  an  em- 
broidered cloth,  whose  soft  reds  and  yellows  and  blues 
and  browns  merged  into  a  dull  richness  of  colouring. 

Hildred  watched  the  odd  procession  with  interest 
until  the  closed  carriage,  which  contained  the  bride, 
had  passed  out  of  sight,  and  pipe-note  and  drum-tap 
merged  into  the  mosaic  of  sounds  which  helped  to 
create  the  Egyptian  atmosphere.  Kites  screamed 
shrilly  in  the  blue  overhead,  wheeled  and  circled  in 
swift  flight,  or  stopped  in  sudden  watchful  pause ;  spar- 
rows chirped  and  chattered  busily  in  the  roadway, 
bringing  a  touch  of  familiarity  into  the  strangeness, 
until  a  watering-cart  clattering  down  the  street 
dispersed  them  for  a  moment,  evoking  a  smell  of  wet 
dust  as  it  went  onwards  towards  the  humming  city. 

Then  by  a  curious  coincidence  Hildred  came  in 
touch  with  the  last  great  fact  of  mortal  life,  Death. 
Far-off  sounds  of  chanting  pierced  the  air,  and  through 


Life's  Wheel  197 

the  narrow  street,  which  rejoicing  feet  had  so  lately 
trodden,  passed  now  the  steps  of  those  who  mourned. 

First  came  grave,  bearded,  turbaned  men,  some  of 
them  blind,  who  chanted  incessantly  and  monoton- 
ously on  two  murmuring  notes  the  profession  of  their 
faith—"  Ldi-ld-ha  il  ld-l-ldh. " 

Hildred  rose  and  listened  breathlessly  to  the  low, 
harsh  voices  as  the  slow-paced  men  wound  into  sight 
and  out  of  it  again,  followed  by  little  boys  bearing 
green  branches,  who  took  up  the  chant  in  shriller, 
livelier  strain  when  the  men  ceased  for  a  moment. 

Then  came  the  bier,  like  a  coffin  on  four  poles, 
carried  by  friends,  who  changed  places  continually.  It 
was  draped  with  a  richer  covering  than  the  bride's  had 
been,  and  was  hung  with  garlands  of  pink  roses,  while 
at  its  head  was  placed  the  dead  man's  tarbdsh,  whose 
long  black  tassel  hung  limply  from  the  crown.  After 
the  bier  came  the  veiled  women  mourners,  in  thin 
fluttering  robes  of  black  or  darkest  indigo,  each  carry- 
ing a  scarf  of  blue  muslin  which  she  twirled  wildly 
about  her  head,  her  shoulders,  or  before  her  face,  as  she 
uttered  the  high  thin  cries  of  conventional  grief.  The 
wild  gestures  and  wailing  abandonment  of  the  women 
contrasted  oddly  with  the  grave  demeanour  of  the 
men,  while  their  shrill  cries,  piercing  as  those  of 
the  kites  overhead,  the  chanting  of  the  boys,  and  the 
deeper  tones  of  the  now  distant  men  resolved  them- 
selves into  one  of  the  strange,  yet  not  altogether 
inharmonious,  discords  of  the  East. 

Life  and  Death,  the  perpetual  allies  of  Nature,  each 
treading  on  the  other's  heels,  each  standing  aside  to 
offer  precedence  in  turn,  each  taking,  each  giving 
eternal  toll. 


198        The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

Death  here,  despite  the  shrilling  mourners,  owned  a 
gayer,  more  joyful  aspect  than  Death  with  its  gloomy 
plumed  accessories  in  England.  The  dead  man 
had  gone  to  the  garden  of  Paradise,  therefore  his 
friends  should  rejoice,  even  though  the  conventions 
of  mourning  must  be  fulfilled.  Hildred,  like  her 
father,  began  to  wonder. 

Then,  when  she  grew  weary  of  vain  pondering,  and 
the  desire  for  action  awoke,  she  got  her  writing-case 
and  indited  letters  to  her  friends — long  ones  to  the 
Dering  cousins  and  Arab  Lebarte,  which  touched  on 
the  incidents  and  pleasures  of  the  voyage  and  the 
happy  prospect  of  the  Nile  trip,  and  a  brief  announce- 
ment of  her  arrival  and  general  well-being  to  her 
mother.  She  felt  more  than  a  passing  wish  to  send  a 
word  of  greeting  to  Dr.  Lisle ;  he  was  a  person  to  whom 
she  could  write,  she  thought,  but  a  certain  constrain- 
ing shyness  held  her  hand,  as  she  had  already  written 
to  him  from  Marseilles.  If  she  had  only  a  picture-post- 
card! She  had  sent  picture-postcards  to  her  friends 
from  all  stopping-places.  He  would  probably  expect 
one  from  Cairo.  But  how  to  procure  some?  She 
did  not  like  to  go  out  alone,  nor  down  into  the  lounge 
of  the  hotel  among  strangers.  The  forlorn  sensation 
returned  in  full  force. 

She  rang  the  bell,  and  in  a  moment  Moussa 
appeared,  white-robed  and  smiling. 

"Sitt  want  lunch,"  he  suggested.  "Aiwa,  yess, 
Moussa  bring." 

Deftly  he  spread  a  dainty  little  meal,  deftly  he 
served  her,  with  ever-ready  smile  and  watchful 
eyes. 

At  its  conclusion  she  felt  refreshed  and  invigorated. 


Life's  Wheel  199 

The  desire  for  action  grew.  She  wondered  if  she  could 
make  Moussa  understand  that  she  wanted  to  go  out 
and  buy  postcards,  but  his  English  was  extremely 
limited  and  her  Arabic  non-existent. 

"Moussa,  please,"  she  ventured,  "I  want  picture- 
postcards.  " 

"Silt  want  bosta-card, "  answered  Moussa  with  a 
delighted  smile.  "Aiwa,  yess,  Moussa  bring." 

He  disappeared,  and  in  a  short  time  returned  with 
a  little  sheaf  of  postcards  which  he  presented  to 
the  girl. 

Hildred  took  out  her  purse,  but  Moussa  shook  his 
head. 

"No,  no,  I  want  no  money,"  he  said  in  Arabic. 

The  girl  lifted  bewildered  eyebrows,  and  the  youth's 
smile  flashed  out  in  response. 

"  Master  give, "  he  said.  Then  he  looked  round  the 
room  to  see  if  anything  further  were  needed,  and 
uttered  his  best  effort  in  English.  "  Sitt  want,  silt 
ring,  Moussa  bring." 

"Aiwa,  yes,"  Hildred  answered,  determined  to 
tackle  Arabic  on  the  earliest  opportunity. 

When  he  had  gone  she  examined  the  postcards — a 
motley  selection.  One  was  a  bare-breasted  Nubian 
girl,  another  a  naked  child  sitting  on  a  water-buffalo, 
another  a  group  of  Arabs  round  a  vegetable  stall,  and 
several  highly-coloured  representations  of  veiled  and 
unveiled  Eastern  females.  She  selected  one  of  the 
latter  for  Katherine  and  the  natives  clustering  round 
the  crazy  booth  for  Dr.  Lisle,  to  whom  she  said — "  So 
far  I  have  not  even  seen  a  mango-seed  in  Egypt. "  To 
which  he  replied  later  that  she  must  learn  a  new  accom- 
plishment, his  latest  being  that  of  building  cages  for 


2oo        The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

dreams,  a  handicraft,  he  said,  in  which  his  original  art 
proved  very  helpful. 

Meanwhile  the  minutes  ticked  slowly.  Hildred  was 
ready  and  waiting  from  three  o'clock,  but  it  was  nearer 
to  four  when  her  father  arrived,  fresh  and  cheerful, 
and  not  at  all  apologetic. 

"I  suppose  you  had  almost  given  me  up,"  he  said 
lightly.  "I  lunched  with  some  very  amusing  people 
at  the  Semiramis,  and  afterwards  we  smoked  and 
talked,  and  the  hours  simply  fled." 

"They  snailed  for  me,"  answered  Hildred  ruefully. 

"That's  rather  a  good  word,"  laughed  Ivors, 
"although  I  fear  that  the  dictionary  would  not 
sanction  it.  To  snail — did  you  invent  it  yourself?" 

"It  was  a  school  word,"  Hildred  replied  briefly. 
She  felt  a  new  and  sudden  exasperation  at  the  sight 
of  this  cool,  careless  person,  and  yet  the  sense  of  com- 
panionship was  so  grateful  after  her  lonely  hours  that 
she  could  not  afford  to  risk  its  loss  again.  "Are  we 
going  out  now?" 

The  slim,  erect  figure,  gloved,  and  provokingly 
ready,  found  another  weak  spot  in  Ivors's  armour. 
How  often  in  dead  days  had  Harriet  so  sat  and  waited  ? 
The  sight,  so  obviously  putting  him  in  the  wrong, 
pricked  him  to  a  lazy  disinclination  for  further 
movement. 

' '  We  '11  have  tea  first ,  I  think , "  he  said , ' '  then  we  shall 
go  out,  and  you  shall  plunge  into  the  seething  East. " 

"I  should  like  to  plunge  into  something.  I  am 
rather  tired  of  sitting  still." 

"Why  didn't  you  practise  the  can-can?"  asked 
Ivors,  with  a  twinkling  nonchalance.  "I  am  told 
it  is  admirable  exercise." 


Life's  Wheel  201 

"I  don't  know  the  can-can,"  Hildred  began,  but 
she  had  to  laugh  before  she  had  half -finished  her  stiff 
little  sentence 

"That 's  right, "  said  Ivors.  "An  untold  relief.  I 
know  that  people  cannot  be  really  angry  with  me 
when  I  can  make  them  laugh." 

"Why  did  you  think  I  was  angry  with  you?" 

"  The  way  you  sat,  my  dear,  and  your  dreadful  air  of 
being  ready.  You  were  right,  too,  of  course.  That 
was  the  worst  of  it.  It  was  unconscionable  of  me  to 
keep  a  lady  waiting.  I  '11  apologise  willingly  now  that 
you  've  laughed,  but  while  you  looked  so  horribly  right 
I  could  n't.  The  words  froze  on  my  lips. " 

Hildred  laughed  again.  What  was  the  use  of  being 
annoyed  with  so  irresponsible  a  person? 

"I  don't  think  anything  could  freeze  to-day,"  she 
answered,  with  that  touch  of  literalness  which  Ivors 
so  deplored. 

"Are  you  enjoying  the  sunshine?" 

"Yes." 

"Ah,  tea,  thank  goodness.  Will  you  make  it, 
please,  Hildred?" 

"With  pleasure." 

She  rose  and  went  to  the  table.  Ivors  liked  the  way 
her  hands  busied  themselves  about  the  little  task. 

"  Did  you  look  at  the  sketches?"  he  asked  suddenly. 

Hildred    glanced    up    and    away    again.     "Yes." 

"  How  did  you  like  them?  " 

She  met  his  inquiring  gaze  frankly. 

"You  were  right ,"  she  said .  "  I  did  not  understand 
them.  They  seemed  to  me  to  be  very — vague." 

"Dreams  are  vague  as  a  rule, "  returned  Ivors.  Her 
frankness  pleased  him,  but,  despite  his  previous  judg- 


202        The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

i 

ment,  her  lack  of  comprehension  disappointed  him 
faintly.  He  was  one  who  quested  always  for  the 
Crystal  of  Understanding. 

After  tea  they  set  out.  In  the  lounge  Ivors  stopped 
to  speak  to  one  or  two  people,  to  whom  he  introduced 
Hildred.  There  was  a  touch  of  pride  in  his  tone  as  he 
said,  "My  daughter — "  and  the  girl  was  pleased  at 
his  evident  popularity. 

One  lady,  a  Mrs.  Herries,  said  that  they  should 
dine  at  her  table  to-night,  while  her  daughter  made 
an  engagement  with  Hildred  to  play  tennis  on  the 
morrow. 

With  their  descent  from  the  shaded  room  they 
seemed  to  have  plunged  into  a  small  whirl  of  life  and 
gaiety,  which  promised  no  return  of  empty  hours  in 
the  future. 

As  they  drove  through  the  tree-shaded  streets  with 
their  ever-moving  throng  Hildred  felt  stirred  and 
stimulated,  and  when  they  crossed  the  Kasr-el-Nil 
bridge  and  she  got  her  first  glimpse  of  the  Nile  with  its 
palm-trees  and  palaces,  its  steamers  all  gaily  a-flutter 
with  flags,  and  a  Nile-boat  or  two  with  high  pointed 
sails,  she  felt  a  real  thrill  of  excitement,  which  a  nearer 
view  of  the  rushing,  turbid  river  slightly  abated. 

Still  it  was  strange  and  new — the  crowd  of  varied 
colour  and  nationality,  the  natives  walking  calmly  in 
the  middle  of  the  road  amid  the  rush  of  traffic,  the 
harim-ca.ma.ges  with  their  white- veiled  occupants; 
here  a  dust-coloured  figure  against  a  dust-coloured  wall 
selling  oranges,  there  a  string  of  Arabs,  in  black,  or 
white,  and  blue,  hurrying  along  with  flat  baskets  of 
glowing  tomatoes  poised  upon  their  heads. 

The  vivid  life,  the  unusual  sounds  and  sights,  the 


Life's  Wheel 


203 


colour,  the  movement,  enchained  the  girl  to  silence, 
and  the  last  touch  of  strangeness  was  added  to  her 
impression  when,  after  driving  between  the  orange- 
trees  at  Ghezireh,  she  saw  the  polo-ponies  galloping 
across  a  field  of  grass,  from  which  they  sent  up  clouds 
of  dust  with  their  active  hoofs.  It  was  curious  to  her 
to  see  the  game  played  against  a  background  of  palms 
and  watched  eagerly  by  groups  of  squatting  Arabs, 
while  a  few  hundred  yards  away  flocks  and  herds 
grazed  peacefully  under  the  palm-trees,  tended  by 
shepherds  with  long  staffs. 

Ivors  watched  her  with  amusement. 

"Have  you  heard  the  Nile-Song  yet?"  he  inquired 
at  last. 

"I  haven't  had  a  chance,"  the  girl  answered. 
"Give  me  time." 

"It  would  take  eternity,"  said  Ivors  with  a  little 
sigh. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  LUCKY  DAY 

IT  was  Thursday,  called  by  the  Arabs  "the  blessed, " 
and  Lady  Nugent  and  Hesper  Marlowe  sat  on 
the  deck  of  the  dahabieh  Nitocris,  which  was  tied  up 
at  El-Wasta  to  await  the  arrival  of  the  Ivorses. 

The  afternoon  sun  was  still  high,  and  bathed  the 
river,  the  village,  and  the  palm-groves  in  a  golden  glow. 
To  the  left  the  spurs  of  the  Arabian  Hills  rose  sharply 
into  the  haze;  down  the  river  came  a  flotilla  of  Nile- 
boats,  their  high  pointed  sails  showing  dark  against 
the  glow,  and  white  as  a  sea-gull's  wing  when  the  sun- 
light fell  full  on  them. 

Lady  Nugent  belonged  to  the  type  of  cushion- 
woman — soft,  reposeful,  yielding.  Borne  along  by 
the  impetuous  rush  of  her  adventurous  family  she 
was  always  cherished  by  them  as  their  most  precious 
and  comfortable  possession. 

"When  they  suggested  wintering  in  Egypt,"  she 
was  saying  to  Miss  Marlowe,  "I  thought  that  I  might 
as  well  be  there  as  anywhere  else. " 

That  was  the  key-note  of  her  existence.  It  did  not 
matter  to  her  where  she  was  so  long  as  her  family  envir- 
oned her.  If  one  could  venture  on  so  incongruous  a 
comparison  one  might  claim  for  her  some  kinship  of 

204 


The  Lucky  Day  205 

inverted  circumstance,  if  not  of  spirit,  with  the  desert 
nomad,  whose  home  is  wherever  he  chooses  to  pitch 
his  tent,  and  whose  family  camp  or  tramp  as  he  and 
Allah  will. 

Kindness  to  her  children  bestowed  the  freedom  of 
the  city  of  Lady  Nugent's  benevolence  on  the  stranger. 
Inasmuch  as  he  or  she  was  necessary  to  the  pleasure  or 
happiness  of  one  of  the  beloved  circle,  insomuch  was 
he  or  she  necessary  to  Lady  Nugent's  well-being. 

Her  soft  placidity  rested  Hesper  Marlowe.  Men- 
tally the  elder  woman's  horizon  was  determined  by  the 
girdling  hills  of  her  own  warm  valley,  while  Hesper's 
stretched  towards  some  far  invisible  fusion  of  sea  and 
sky. 

Lady  Nugent  was  conscious  of  no  disparity  of  out- 
look between  them.  She  admired  Miss  Marlowe, 
thought  her  clever,  even  brilliant,  loved  her  for  her 
kindness  in  the  present  to  her  restless  Gerda,  for  her 
kindness  in  the  past  to  her  pretty  Sylvia,  for  whose 
first-born  her  soft  white  fingers  were  knitting  a  soft 
white  woollen  jacket. 

The  deck  of  the  Nitocris  was  a  pleasant  place  to  idle 
in,  with  its  thick  awning  overhead  which  kept  the  sun- 
rays  at  bay ;  with  its  green  tubs  of  oleander  and  hibis- 
cus; with  its  scarlet  and  white  rugs  placed  gaily  here 
and  there ;  with  its  cushioned  deck-chairs  and  lounges ; 
and  now  with  the  glistening  tea-table  which  stood 
ready  to  give  refreshing  welcome  to  the  expected 
travellers. 

Hesper  sat  in  a  long  easy  chair.  Over  her  thin  white 
gown  she  had  slipped  a  loose  coat  of  dull  Egyptian 
blue,  whose  colour  deepened  the  blueness  of  her  eyes. 
She  was  not  working,  although  a  strip  of  Irish  lace  lay 


2o6        The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

upon  her  lap.  Her  gaze  was  fixed  upon  the  flotilla  of 
Nile-boats,  now  showing  white  against  the  biscuit 
and  umber  tints  of  the  hills.  Nearer  they  stole  and 
nearer,  their  high  prows  painted  in  chequers  of  water- 
worn  reds  and  yellows,  while  the  blue-robed  men  who 
worked  the  big  fin-like  rudders  called  guttural  greet- 
ings to  the  watchers  on  the  bank  as  they  passed.  Their 
cargoes  of  shining  dead-gold  straw  or  snowy  blocks  of 
limestone  added  their  touch  of  the  unusual  to  the 
scene. 

Hesper  was  absorbed,  entranced. 

"You  like  it?"  said  Lady  Nugent. 

"I  love  it";  she  drew  a  deep  breath.  "I  have  no 
words  in  which  to  say  how  it  fascinates  me." 

"More  than  India?" 

"A  thousand  times  more. " 

"Now  to  me,"  pursued  Lady  Nugent,  with  a  soft 
clicking  of  her  needles,  "it  is  all  very  flat  and  uninter- 
esting. It  's  hot  and  dusty,  and  I  can  smell  the  village 
distinctly." 

"So  can  I,  but  I  don't  mind  that." 

"You  and  Mr.  Ivors  ought  to  get  on.  He  is  posi- 
tively rabid  on  the  subject  of  Egypt  in  general  and  the 
Nile  in  particular.  Now  he  's  a  charming  man.  So 
pleasant  and  amusing — says  things  no  one  else  would 
ever  even  think  of.  Gerda  and  Roddy  think  no  end  of 
him.  We  saw  a  good  deal  of  him  in  Cairo  last  year. 
It  was  he  who  fired  Sir  George  with  enthusiasm  to 
come  up  the  Nile  this  winter.  What  I  like  about  him 
is  that  he  is  the  same  to  all  women,  more  or  less — just 
as  nice  to  me  as  to  Gerda." 

"That  sameness  must  be  a  trifle  monotonous," 
answered  Hesper,  fighting  against  a  rising  prejudice. 


The  Lucky  Day  207 

"  I  said  '  more  or  less, ' "  returned  Lady  Nugent.  She 
laid  down  her  knitting  and  bent  confidentially  forward. 
"  I  only  hope  that  Gerda  won't  fall  in  love  with  him.' ' 

"Why  did  you  ask  him  if  you  were  afraid  of  such 
a  contingency?  Besides,  if  I  read  Gerda  aright,  she 
would  look  on  him  as  elderly — fatal  word!  and  con- 
sider him  rather  soft  because  he  neither  shot,  rode, 
nor  hunted.  Gerda 's  ideal  at  present  is  the  sporting 
hero.  I  don't  think  you  need  be  alarmed. " 

"That 's  all  right, "  said  Lady  Nugent  comfortably. 
"  Besides,  if  Gerda  wanted  to  fall  in  love,  she  'd  do  it, 
no  matter  what  precautions  I  might  take.  But,  dear 
Miss  Marlowe,  you  could  n't  call  him  elderly.  The 
spirit  of  youth  looks  out  of  his  eyes. " 

A  faint  wonder  stirred  Hesper  Marlowe.  What  sort 
of  personality  had  aroused  this  poetic  fervour  in  Lady 
Nugent,  whose  vocabulary  consisted,  as  a  rule,  of 
phrases  echoed  from  the  daily  speech  of  those  around 
her? 

Aloud  she  said  lightly:  "Then  he  suffers  from  the 
same  complaint  as  I  do — incurable  youth!  Poor 
man ! "  The  touch  of  mockery  linked  them. 

"I  wonder  why  he  has  never  married,"  Lady 
Nugent  went  on.  "Last  winter  in  Cairo  a  rich 
American  literally  flung  herself  at  his  head,  and  pur- 
sued him  so  hotly  that  he  had  to  flee  into  the  desert  to 
escape  from  her." 

"  Disgusting! "     Scorn  curled  Hesper 's  lip. 

"Well,  he  went  into  the  desert  at  any  rate — 'to 
study  the  effect  of  shadows  on  the  sand,'  he  said." 

There  was  a  pause. 

"She  was  very  pretty  too,  in  an  exotic,  flower-like 
style." 


208         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

"Was  she?" 

"Yes,  I  heard  him  say  so." 

Ah,  Hesper  had  not  recognised  from  whom 
Lady  Nugent  could  have  culled  the  phrase  "exotic 
flower " 

"I  wonder  why  he  did  n't !" 

"Do  you  think  every  one  must  needs  marry,  dear 
Lady  Nugent?" 

"  I  think  every  one  ought  to. " 

"Even  widows  and  widowers?" 

"Certainly  widowers.  It's  a  heaven-sent  chance 
for  the  poor  female  sex.  But  widows?  That  's  a 
different  matter.  No,  I  don't  think  widows  should 
re-marry.  It  's  not  fair  that  any  woman  should  have 
two  men." 

Hesper  laughed,  then  sobered,  "  Mr.  Ivors's  tragedy 
must  have  cut  deep. " 

"What  tragedy?" 

Hesper  regretted  her  unconsidered  speech.  Ab- 
surdly, she  felt  as  if  she  had  betrayed  a  confidence, 
but  hesitation  would  have  been  equally  absurd. 

"He  lost  his  wife  and  son  sixteen  years  ago.  They 
died  of  diphtheria. " 

"How  shocking!  Some  one  told  me  that  his  wife 
died  in  a  lunatic  asylum,  but  they  must  have  made  a 
mistake.  Or  was  it  that  other  man,  the  one  who 
paints  camels  so  well?" 

"Probably.  It  was  Mr.  Carteret  of  Port  Said  who 
told  me.  I  don't  think  they  ever  speak  of  it,  though. " 

"Naturally.  I  must  try  not  to  mention  diphtheria 
while  they  are  here.  Fortunately  it  is  not  a  disease 
of  the  country,  and  in  any  case  I  hate  talking  about 
diseases.  You  like  the  girl,  you  said." 


The  Lucky  Day  209 

"Yes.  She  has  a  charm  all  her  own.  I  am  sure 
you  will  like  her.  " 

"I  'm  sure  I  shall.  It  will  be  so  nice  for  Gerda  to 
have  a  companion." 

For  a  moment  Hesper  wondered  if  Lady  Nugent,  in 
the  dual  invitation  to  father  and  daughter,  had  cloaked 
the  wisdom  of.  the  serpent  with  the  innocence  of  the 
dove?  The  perpetual  presence  of  a  grown-up  daughter 
is  likely  to  clip  the  wings  of  a  schoolgirlish  fancy  for 
the  father  of  such  a  one — likely  to  clear  the  vision  to 
a  perception  of  his  paternal  authority,  the  weight  of 
his  advancing  years.  Hesper  smiled  at  the  thought, 
wondering,  too,  if  Hildred  and  Gerda  would  amalga- 
mate; if  Hildred  would  respond  to  the  irresponsible 
youth  of  Gerda,  or  if  Gerda  would  be  repelled  by  the 
hint  of  quiet  maturity  in  Hildred's  manner? 

"Here  they  are!"  said  Lady  Nugent.  "I  see 
George's  grey  hat  among  a  crowd  of  tarbtishes."  She 
waved  her  knitting  in  welcome,  and  Hesper  turned 
to  face  the  land. 

Yes,  there  they  were,  Sir  George,  tall,  thin,  brown; 
Hildred,  quaker-like  in  grey,  but  with  radiant  apple- 
blossom  face;  Gerda,  tall  and  fair,  waving  her  sun- 
umbrella,  and  the  much-discussed  Mr.  Ivors  looking 
ridiculously  young  in  the  distance.  Behind  them  came 
the  Arabs  with  their  luggage,  and  in  a  moment  the 
Nitocris  was  seized,  boarded,  and  bombarded  with 
greetings,  welcomes,  questions,  and  introductions. 

Hildred,  bewildered  with  the  novelty  of  having  her 
shoes  and  skirts  brushed  with  an  ostrich-feather  brush 
by  a  tall  Nubian  the  moment  she  stepped  on  deck, 
flew  to  her  friend  when  Lady  Nugent's  greetings  were 
over. 
14 


2io        The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

"Isn't  this  too  delightful  for  words?"  she  said, 
with  a  quick  girlish  hug.  "I  want  to  introduce  my 
father  to  you." 

A  certain  undertone  in  the  words  told  Hesper  that 
past  tremors  were  merged  in  present  pride  of  posses- 
sion. More  than  that  she  had  not  time  to  read,  but  her 
impulses  leaped  in  warm  response  to  the  girl's  evident 
reaction  from  her  former  lonely  apprehensions. 

"It 's  good  to  see  my  travelling-companion  again, 
though  I  felt  that  we  should  meet  somewhere." 

"You  had  vanished  the  other  night  when  I  turned 
round." 

"I  used  my  fern  seed  and  became  invisible  when  I 
saw  that  you  needed  me  no  longer. " 

"I  want  to  introduce  my  father  to  you.  Don't  use 
your  fern  seed  again. " 

Some  faint  premonition  touched  Hesper,  that,  as 
far  as  the  Ivors  family  was  concerned,  the  fern  seed  of 
invisibility  had  become  unavailable.  They  had 
entered  into  her  life  for  good  or  ill ;  they,  not  only  the 
girl  but  the  man,  had  preoccupied  her  thoughts  and 
filled  her  musings. 

She  turned,  with  an  odd  sense  of  meeting  Fate. 

"Father."  The  word  fell  from  Hildred's  lips  for 
the  first  time  and  stirred  a  new  sensation  in  Ivors. 
"You  were  right  when  you  said  that  this  was  a  lucky 
day.  I  want  to  introduce  you  to  Miss  Marlowe,  who 
was  so  good  to  me  on  the  voyage. " 

"A  lucky  day  indeed, "  he  murmured,  inwardly  add- 
ing, "I  wonder?"  as  he  came  forward  to  fulfil  the 
destiny  which  had  been  wrought  for  him  by  the  Silent 
Spinners  in  the  soundless  hours. 

He  saw  Ysolt  of  Ireland — Ysolt  the  Fair — with 


The  Lucky  Day  211 

"black-blue  hair  and  Irish  eyes" — a  branch  of  Evin's 
apple-tree  with  "twigs  of  white  silver"  upon  it  and 
"buds  of  crystal  with  blossoms" — a  type  of  alluring 
remoteness  and  magic  nearness,  the  nearness  and 
remoteness  of  the  stars  and  the  night.  The  eternal 
question  in  his  eyes  sought  and  found  the  eternal 
question  in  hers.  In  the  closed  book  of  Fate  lay  the 
answer. 

He  bowed,  but  Hesper  Marlowe  held  out  a  friendly 
hand. 

"I  scarcely  need  an  introduction,"  she  said,  in  the 
low  rippling  tones  that  Hildred  was  so  glad  to  hear 
again.  "I  have  seen  a  picture  of  yours  downstairs, 
which  speaks  to  me  like  an  old  friend. " 

"Which  is  that?"  asked  Ivors  interested.  Did 
he  catch  the  gleam  of  a  crystal? 

"Nile  Dawn,"  put  in  Gerda  Nugent,  coming  up. 
"We  can't  get  Miss  Marlowe  to  be  really  nautical,  no 
matter  how  much  we  try,  nor  mammy  either.  They 
will  say  '  upstairs  and  downstairs '  until  it  nearly  brings 
on  a  relapse  for  poor  Roddy. " 

"You  cannot  be  nautical  on  the  Nile,"  objected 
Ivors.  "It's  absurd;  it's  an  anachronism.  The 
Nile  is  not  the  sea. " 

"It 's  a  river,"  laughed  Gerda,  "and  a  ship  is  a 
ship ;  a  river  is  water  and  water  's  the  sea,  therefore 
the  Nile  must  be  the  same  as  the  sea.  Is  n't  that 
good  logic,  Smarlie?" 

"It  may  be  good  logic,"  Hesper  answered,  "but  it 
is  n't  true.  The  Nile — is — the  Nile.  It  seems  absurd, 
but  there  is  really  no  word  which  describes  it. " 

Ivors's  eyes  met  hers  in  a  sudden  flash  of  under- 
standing. 


212        The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

"Why  do  you  call  her  Smarlie?"  asked  Hildred. 

"School  abbreviation.  From  Miss  Marlowe  to 
Smarlowe  and  from  Smarlowe  to  Smarlie-for-short 
is  an  easy  transition. " 

"As  easy  as  it  is  ugly, "  said  Ivors  abruptly,  turning 
to  greet  Roddy,  who  came  wearily  on  deck  with 
an  assumption  of  perfect  health  which  was  cheerily 
accepted  by  every  one. 

Hildred  found  herself  the  centre  of  the  younger 
group,  drawn  by  their  unaffected  manners  into  the 
quick  intimacy  of  youth.  The  closeness  of  the  bond 
which  knit  the  family  together  was  apparent  in  every 
word  of  the  easy  friendly  intercourse,  and  if  percep- 
tion of  it  stung  the  girl  with  some  sense  of  contrast,  she 
was,  for  the  moment,  content  with  circumstance  and 
the  mellowing  relations  with  her  father. 

Ivors  slipped  naturally  into  his  groove  of  accus- 
tomed friendship  with  the  Nugents,  and  unobtrusively 
studied  Miss  Marlowe,  who  was,  to  his  beauty-loving 
soul,  a  type  as  fascinating  as  unfamiliar. 

The  dahabieh  Nitocris  had  started  on  the  arrival 
of  the  travellers  and  glided  with  dreamy  motion  past 
the  flat-topped  umber  hills,  across  whose  jutting  scarps 
and  amethyst-grey  clefts  blue  cloud-shadows  fleeted 
and  vanished.  Stretches  and  slips  of  vivid  green  from 
the  springing  crops  alternated,  on  the  Libyan  side, 
with  patches  of  wet  brown  land  whose  rich  mud 
awaited  the  seed-scattering  of  blue-girt  fellahin. 

Along  the  bank  went  intermittent  silhouettes; 
strings  of  laden  camels,  of  camels  with  cloaked  and 
bearded  riders,  ambling  from  the  pages  of  the  Ara- 
bian Nights,  from  old  tales  of  caravans  and  spice- 
merchants,  coloured  with  romance,  tinctured  with 


The  Lucky  Day  213 

mystery,  till  through  the  golden  dusk  one  could  almost 
smell  aloes  and  ambergris.  Silhouettes  of  pink-robed 
children  leading  grey,  lumbering  water-buffaloes;  of 
black-draped  women,  water- jars  on  head,  in  poise  as 
beautiful  as  the  captured  grace  of  some  Attic  frieze. 

Past  them  all  flowed  the  immemorial  Nile,  muddy 
and  turbid,  but  powerful  with  a  spell  beyond  all 
telling — the  mighty  river  but  for  whose  rich  bene- 
ficence Egypt,  with  all  her  mystery,  her  ancient  arts, 
and  time-defying  temples,  her  wonderful  antiquity  and 
fertile  modernity,  would  be  but  a  waste  desolation  of 
burning  sand  and  rock. 

Later,  when  Ivors  had  removed  the  dust  of  travel 
he  returned  to  the  upper  deck  and  drew  a  chair  close 
to  Miss  Marlowe's. 

"I  see  that  it  all  appeals  to  you,"  he  said  softly. 

She  looked  up  with  interest.  Her  path  in  youth  had 
lain  aloof  from  men,  and  it  was  only  the  past  few  years 
that  had  brought  contact.  Of  the  arts  of  coquetry 
or  deliberate  allurement  she  knew  nothing,  and, 
while  it  gave  her  a  keen  pleasure  to  meet  with  any  who 
cared  about  the  things  for  which  she  cared,  any  hint  of 
warmer  feeling  or  tentative  promotion  of  friendship 
to  something  closer,  froze  her  back  into  frightened 
retreat.  The  "twigs  of  white  silver  and  buds  of 
crystal  with  blossoms"  were  not  for  any  man's 
plucking. 

All  that  she  had  heard  of  Ivors  half -fascinated, 
half-repelled  her.  The  Eve  in  her  desired  personal 
confirmation  of  the  man's  admitted  charm,  while 
the  Dian-spirit  of  her  Celtic  ancestry  rebelled  at  the 
thought  of  capture  or  capitulation. 

"One  need  not  succumb  to  such  an  easy  charm," 


214        The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

she  thought,  "  such  an  easy,  self-confident,  impertinent 
charm,"  and  she  steeled  herself  against  it,  thereby 
unconsciously  admitting  its  power. 

"Yes,"  she  answered  aloud.  "It  appeals  to  me 
indescribably." 

"Ah,  indescribably.  There  is  no  other  word.  The 
veil  of  Egypt " 

"Blinds  one's  eyes,  so  that  one  neither  sees  the  ugly 
sights,  feels  the  dust,  nor  smells  the  odours,"  put  in 
Hesper  quickly. 

"Not  every  one's,  and  not  so  quickly." 

"Yes,  at  once,"  she  objected. 

"How  did  you  know?" 

"Ah,  I  knew, "  she  nodded  wisely.  " I  knew  when  I 
saw  your  picture — the  Nile-boats  stealing  out  of  the 
pearly,  amethyst  mists  of  dawn — and  I  knew  what  I 
felt  myself." 

"What  you  felt  yourself?  Is  that  sympathy  or 
intuition?  I  wonder?"  said  Ivors  slowly. 

"Perhaps  a  touch  of  both.  It's  wonderful,  this 
Nile-magic."  Hesper  spoke  half  to  herself. 

"Ah,  you  have  n't  really  seen  it  yet.  Wait  until  we 
get  farther  up  the  river,  until  you  have  seen  the 
temples,  until  you  have  become  one  with  the  lotus-life. 
How  it  maddens  me  when  people  talk  of  its  being 
dirty,  or  muddy,  or  uninteresting!  Uninteresting! 
Good  Lord,  they  don't  deserve  to  have  eyes  in  their 
heads!  Don't  they  know  that  all  flowers  have  their 
roots  in  mud?  Mud!  Can't  they  look  above  the 
mud  if  they  don't  like  it?  No,  they  can't.  They 
have  the  minds  of  bats.  When  the  pageant  of  the  sky 
spreads  a  different  brilliance  before  them  night  after 
night  they  say  they  are  'fed  up  with  sunsets.'  Did 


The  Lucky  Day  215 

you  ever  hear  such  a  loathly  expression?  When  they 
see  the  wonder  of  the  Nile  unfolding  day  by  day  they 
say  that  they  are  sick  of  boats  and  palms.  Sick  of  the 
boats  that  are  always  so  suggestively  beautiful, 
whether  they  go  singly  or  in  groups  like  clouds  of  white 
butterflies  in  vanishing  perspective ;  whether  they  sail 
towards  the  rose  of  sunset  or  out  of  the  hyacinth  mists 
of  dawn;  whether  they  dazzle  in  the  hot  sunshine  or 
lie  still  at  night,  with  butterfly- wings  folded  and 
slender  masts  slanting  like  wind-swept  reeds  against  a 
fading  saffron  sky. " 

"Ah,  that  is  how  I  saw  them  at  Port  Said!  I  have 
never  forgotten.  Did  Hildred  tell  you?  You  used 
almost  my  very  words.  The  simile  is  the  same — wind- 
bent  rushes. " 

"How  odd!  No,  she  did  not.  Another  instance 
of  sympathetic  intuition. ' '  He  smiled  at  Hesper,  who, 
almost  in  spite  of  herself,  smiled  back  again.  It  was 
pleasant  to  have  one's  moods  understood.  "Do  you 
paint?" 

"  I  used  to  copy  a  little  once,  but  then,  when  I  grew 
to  see,  to  appreciate,  of  course  I  gave  it  up. " 

"On  account  of  your  limitations?" 

"Too  big  a  word!  On  account  of  my  utter  ignor- 
ance. I  loved  the  art  too  much  to  desecrate  it  with 
my  wretched  attempts. " 

"Wise  woman!  O  woman,  trebly  wise!  But 
surely  those  slender  fingers  do  something  besides 
embroider?" 

Hesper  drew  herself  up  a  little,  and  clasped  the  slim 
hands  that  lay  idle  on  her  lap. 

"They  play  the  piano." 

"Forgive  me.     My  tongue  is  for  ever  treading  on 


216         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

the  heels  of  my  thoughts,  and  I  always  notice  people's 
hands.  I  don't  mean  to  be  rude. " 

"I  'm  sure  you  don't,  but  I  happen  to  dislike 
personalities. " 

"I  must  err  again,  then,"  said  Ivors,  with  his  air  of 
eager  boyishness,  "and  get  it  all  over  at  once."  He 
spoke  quickly  to  ward  off  interruption.  "You  are 
beautiful.  I  should  like  to  paint  you  some  day.  May 
I?  There,  it 's  out  now.  Are  you  angry  with  me?" 
His  tone  held  a  careless  assumption  of  the  forgiveness 
which  was  so  rarely  denied  him. 

"I  don't  suppose  that  any  woman  is  ever  angry  at 
being  called  beautiful,"  returned  Hesper  slowly,  "but 
I  don't  think  I  should  care  to  be  painted,  somehow." 

"I  won't  paint  you  somehow.  I  '11  paint  you  any- 
how, or  nohow,  contrariwise, "  laughed  Ivors.  "Your 
type  is  new  to  me.  Please  be  as  agreeable  as  you 
look." 

Hesper  hardened  her  heart.  A  new  type — that  was 
all.  Another  butterfly  to  be  added  to  his  collection. 

"I  didn't  think  you  painted  figures." 

"  I  don't,  as  a  rule.  Besides,  your  face  is  all  I  want. 
Just  think.  One  little  seventh  part  of  your  whole 
microcosm.  Can  you  really  be  so  disobliging?" 

Once  more  Hesper  smiled  in  spite  of  herself. 

"Ah,  you  're  relenting." 

"I '11  think  about  it." 

' '  Thank  you.  That  crumb  must  content  me  for  the 
present.  I  never  can  wait  until  the  whole  loaf  is 
attainable"  he  added  ruefully.  "I  must  always  leap 
before  I  look. " 

"What  happens  then?" 

"I  find  that  I  generally  alight  near  the  loaf— 


The  Lucky  Day  217 

"And  that  you  don't  want  it  when  you  do,"  put  in 
Hesper  quickly. 

"Now  we  have  come  to  thought-reading,"  cried 
Ivors.  "Are  you  an  expert  in  all  the  mental  sciences? 
Sir  George  does  not  allow  the  Black  Art  to  be  practised 
on  board  the  Nitocris. " 

"Does  n't  he?"  The  wind,  which  so  often  springs 
up  on  the  Nile  in  the  evening,  loosened  and  lifted  a 
black  tendril  from  the  waves  of  hair  on  her  forehead. 

Ivors  felt  a  sudden  inclination  to  touch  it  and  put  it 
softly  back  in  its  place.  There  was  something  in- 
stantly attractive  to  him  in  this  woman,  in  the  direct 
glance  of  her  changing  eyes,  in  the  persuasive  melting 
tones  of  her  voice,  in  the  very  absence  of  conscious 
effort  to  charm.  The  slight  touch  of  aloofness  pleased 
while  it  piqued  him,  and  he  felt  instinctively  that  this 
elusive  Celtic  temperament,  embodied  in  the  contrast 
of  night-black  hair,  milk-white  skin,  and  sea-blue 
eyes,  held  among  its  gifts  and  graces,  the  seed  of  a 
friendship  which  would  be  worth  culture. 

"There  's  nothing  personal  in  the  sunset,  the  Lord 
be  praised!"  he  ejaculated  suddenly.  "Just  look  at 
it." 

Hesper,  unused  to  what  he  called  his  grasshopper- 
flights,  could  not  follow  his  train  of  thought,  save  that 
in  some  way  it  concerned  her. 

"Here's  Hildred, "  she  said,  with  some  sense  of 
relief.  ' '  Hildred,  come  and  see  your  first  Nile  sunset. ' ' 
She  put  out  a  welcoming  hand  to  the  girl,  who  stood 
hesitant  at  the  top  of  the  steps. 

"I  had  to  come.  I  Ve  unpacked  and  put  away  all 
my  things  in  my  dear  little  cabin.  Then  I  saw  a  glow 
which  I  could  not  resist,  so  I  came  up  on  deck,  and 


2i 8         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

when  I  heard  your  voices  they  drew  me. "  She  leaned 
against  the  rail  and  looked  across  the  water,  her  clear 
young  profile  outlined  against  the  sky. 

"You  will  oblige  me  greatly  by  sitting  down,"  said 
her  father.  "At  present  you  obscure  at  least  one- 
third  of  my  horizon." 

"I  don't  want  to  obscure  any  one's  horizon," 
answered  Hildred,  taking  a  cushion  from  an  adjoining 
lounge  and  sitting  down  between  the  two.  She 
glanced  under  her  lashes  at  her  father.  His  tone  had 
been  dry.  Could  he  be  annoyed  with  her  for  having 
interrupted  his  conversation  with  Miss  Marlowe? 
Absurd! 

With  a  touch  of  exhilaration  induced  by  the  crisp 
Egyptian  air  and  the  novelty  of  her  surroundings  she 
patted  his  knee  and  said: 

"I  wonder  if  I  could  make  you  laugh?" 

His  smile  flashed  out  in  response. 

"Why,  you  silly  baby?  Do  I  look  obnoxiously 
right,  or  ready,  or  waiting,  or  what?"  He  touched 
the  back  of  her  hand. 

"  It 's  all  right  now, "  said  the  girl  happily.  "  Let  us 
watch  the  sunset  in  peace. " 

To  Hesper  the  inclusion  brought  a  sudden  waft  of 
loneliness.  In  Ivors  it  renewed  that  novel  and  not 
unpleasant  sense  of  domesticity ;  that  anchored  feeling 
of  having  some  one,  even  temporarily  dependent  upon 
one. 

In  silence  they  watched  the  pageant  of  the  sky  as  it 
flamed  in  luminous  scarlet  clouds  which  melted  to  gold 
at  their  outer  edges.  Detached  from  the  mass  a 
feather  of  cloud  trailed  its  rosy  length  across  the  blue. 
The  sun  sank;  the  flames  burned  orange;  the  cloud- 


The  Lucky  Day  219 

feather  turned  a  filmy  brown.  The  light  faded,  died, 
turned  silvery.  Then  the  afterglow  of  saffron  flared 
sombrely  behind  a  black  line  of  palms  on  the  western 
bank.  On  the  forepart  of  the  deck  an  Arab  boatman 
prostrated  himself  in  prayer.  The  land  merged 
gradually  into  a  strip  of  shadow,  and  night,  blue  and 
star-set,  fell  with  incredible  swiftness. 

Hesper  drew  a  long  breath.     Ivors  turned  to  her. 

"  Did  you  note  the  curious  green  where  the  blue  of 
the  sky  melted  into  the  horizon  colours?"  he  asked. 

"I  did." 

11  How  often  have  I  tried  to  paint  it!  It  is  a  colour 
of  the  afrtis!  I  believe  that  they  alone  know  how  to 
mix  it,  for  I  never  can  get  it  to  my  satisfaction.  The 
nearest  thing  to  it  that  I  have  ever  seen  is  the  greeny- 
turquoise  shade  which  you  '11  see  in  some  of  the  old 
temples.  The  love-colour,  the  ancient  Egyptians  used 
to  call  it.  It 's  one  of  the  three  things  I  'm  always 
looking  for. " 

"What  are  the  others?" 

"The  Crystal  of  Understanding,  the  little  Green 
Bird  who  knows  everything,  and — the  Love-Colour. " 

"Perhaps — "  began  Hesper,  and  then  stopped. 

"  Perhaps, "  he  echoed.     "  I  wonder?  " 

"There  's  no  cage  strong  enough  to  hold  the  Green 
Bird,"  said  Hildred  hastily.  "And  no  human  being 
perfect  enough  to  bear  the  test  of  the  Crystal  of 
Understanding. " 

"Perhaps  the  Love-Colour  would  supply  the  defi- 
ciencies of  both,"  said  Hesper,  rising,  and  looking 
at  the  girl  with  a  smile  as  she  moved  away. 


CHAPTER  VII 
"TO-DAY  is  SWEET" 

THE  Nile  journey  glided  on  in  fashion  as  dream- 
like as  the  motion  of  the  dahabieh  Nitocris. 

The  little  group  of  people  who  were  thrown  into 
such  close  proximity  harmonised  pleasantly.  So 
far,  the  hours  made  little  mark,  but,  as  they  filtered 
by,  each  left  its  unnoted  trace  upon  the  threads  of 
life  which  Fate,  at  the  moment,  wove  into  one  wide 
web. 

On  a  windy  morning  they  passed  the  Bird  Mountain, 
whose  high  bluffs,  dazzlingly  white  where  quarried, 
honeycombed  with  holes  of  unexpected  darkness  and 
traceried  here  and  there  with  fan-like  stalactite  effect, 
rose  sheer  from  the  water.  At  its  base  were  narrow 
crop-strips  of  brilliant  green,  while  its  summit  was 
crowned  with  a  Coptic  Monastery  and  village — small 
square  sun-baked  houses  topped  by  four  bubble-like 
white  domes — to  which  a  steep  flight  of  roughly  cut 
steps  gave  access  from  the  shore. 

It  loomed  remote  and  secret  on  this  colourless  day, 
whose  sky  was  streaked  with  thin  white  clouds  and 
sudden  rifts  of  blue,  while  the  river  shivered  in  grey 
and  dove-colour  where  it  did  not  catch  the  silver  of  the 
sun-sparkles. 

220 


"  To-Day  is  Sweet  "  221 

On  a  sandy  islet  a  flock  of  storks  and  herons  medi- 
tated, one-legged,  in  grey  and  white  repose. 

Lady  Nugent  knitted  comfortably,  happy  in  the 
thought  that  they  were  yet  some  days  from  action, 
as  exemplified  by  donkey-riding  and  sight-seeing. 
Roddy,  lying  in  a  long  deck-chair,  laughed  over  a 
novel  he  was  reading,  from  which  he  now  and  again 
read  extracts  to  the  two  girls,  who  were  arranging 
snap-shots  in  an  album. 

Hesper  Marlowe,  curled  up  on  the  end  of  the  divan, 
looked  from  the  mountain  to  the  water  and  from  the 
water  to  the  deck  which  Sir  George  and  Ivors  paced 
in  pursuance  of  their  morning  mile. 

In  spite  of  herself  Hesper  felt  a  kinship  of  spirit  with 
the  artist,  the  dawn  of  a  growing  friendship,  on  which 
he  in  no  way  trespassed.  He  did  not  attempt  to  flirt 
with  her,  as  she  understood  the  art,  and  he  paid  her 
no  more  compliments,  save  occasionally  the  exquisitely 
subtle  one  of  a  glance  that  claimed  and  received  an 
answer  of  mutual  understanding.  It  was  to  her  he 
turned  for  anything  which  needed  a  special  compre- 
hension— an  effect  of  plumy  date-palms  purple  against 
the  rose  of  day's  after-glow;  a  vignette  of  young  girls 
standing  on  the  bank,  slim  as  reeds,  with  their  backs 
to  the  setting  sun  which  shone  through  their  flowing 
scarlet  shawls  with  strange  effect,  making  their  slender 
bodies  look  as  though  they  were  outlined  in  flame; 
a  flight  of  pigeons,  fluttering  and  circling,  pearl- 
breasted  against  the  blue.  For  these  and  other 
moments  his  eyes  sought  hers. 

Hildred  admired,  was  amused  and  attracted,  but 
for  her  Egypt  lay  unveiled,  bare  of  mystery  or  illusion. 
For  her  it  was  the  gay,  noisy,  vivid,  chaffering  East, 


222         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

whose  novelty  contrasted  piquantly  with  her  English 
summer.  Her  clear  young  eyes  saw  more  of  squalor 
than  picturesqueness  in  the  mud  villages  plastered  like 
swallows'  nests  upon  the  banks  from  which  the  Nile 
took  yearly  toll,  and  her  young  heart  felt  a  pity  for 
those  whose  crumbling  homes  had  vanished  altogether 
in  last  year's  flood. 

With  all  her  cosmopolitanism  of  outlook  she  did  not 
grasp  anything  of  the  Arab's  calm  acceptance  of  the 
inevitable;  she  had  never  touched  the  fatalistic  East; 
she  could  not  hear  in  fancy  the  invariable  query, 
"What  matter?"  with  which  the  Arab  greets  fact 
accomplished;  also,  her  ears  were  closed  to  the  Song 
of  the  Nile. 

Hesper,  with  her  knowledge  of  her  own  race, 
saw  more  truly,  understood  better,  and  let  her 
senses  float  on  the  dreamy  enchantment  in  which 
Egypt  had  enwrapped  her  from  the  first  moment 
in  which  she  had  peeped  through  its  keyhole,  Port 
Said. 

As  the  Nitocris  neared  the  great  bluff  Ivors  stopped 
close  to  the  divan. 

"Isn't  it  a  strange  elusive  morning?"  he  said. 
"It 's  a  harmony  in  grey,  and  white,  and  amber,  with 
silver  ruffles  on  the  water  and  no  real  colour  except 
those  strong  rifts  of  blue  overhead.  I  want  to  paint  it. 
I  wonder  if  I  could." 

He  touched  an  electric  bell  which  was  near  at  hand. 
Hesper  heard  its  four  sharp  trills  ring  out  incongru- 
ously above  the  lapping  of  the  water. 

In  an  instant  Moussa,  in  lilac  with  a  purple  waist- 
band, appeared,  and  Ivors  gave  an  order  in  Arabic. 
Then  he  knelt  on  the  end  of  Hesper's  divan,  leaning 


"To-Day  is  Sweet"  223 

his  arm  on  its  back  and  looking  upwards  at  the  tower- 
ing cliff. 

"You  idle  person, "  he  said.  "What  happens  when 
you  are  so  busy  doing  nothing?" 

"I  am  letting  Egypt  sink  into  my  soul.  I  am  pre- 
paring for  the  strenuous  life  which  lies  before  us  once 
the  sight-seeing  begins.  I  am  trying  to  gird  up  the 
loins  of  my  spirit  for  the  donkey-riding.  I  am  think- 
ing over  the  words  of  Arabic  which  I  learn  daily  from 
Moussa.  I  am " 

"Inventing  a  string  of  excuses  for  your  idleness  to 
supplement  the  real  one  which  you  gave  at  the  begin- 
ning," retorted  Ivors  coolly.  "Is  thy  servant  a  dog 
that  he  should  be  pelted  with  phrases  from  thy  proper 
understanding?  " 

Hesper  glanced  at  him,  conscious  of  a  quickened 
interest.  "Do  you  think  you  understand  me?" 

"Good  Lord,  no!  I  dare  advance  no  such  claim, 
but  I  think  you  understand  me  a  little,  which  is  an 
altogether  delightful  and  unusual  experience. " 

Her  face  softened.  "Is  it?  But  remember,  even 
the  most  simpatica  person  only  touches  the  fringes  of 
understanding. " 

"  I  intend  to  keep  tight  hold  of  the  fringes  of  yours, " 
returned  Ivors,  with  deliberate  lightness.  "Besides, 
I  'm  not  at  all  sure  that  I  agree  with  you.  Let  's  have 
an  argument,"  he  said,  sitting  down  suddenly  and 
facing  her. 

Hesper  laughed,  and  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  the  wind 
caught  up  her  laughter,  and  playing  with  it,  lost  it 
in  the  ripples  of  the  water.  Also,  it  loosened  that 
tantalising  tendril  of  her  hair  and  blew  it  softly  about 
her  forehead. 


224         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

"First  of  all,  I  wish  you  'd  tidy  your  hair,"  he  said, 
putting  his  hands  in  his  pockets.  "How  is  one  t<» 
argue  with  a  person  whose  hair  is  blowing  about  into 
her  eyes,  thereby  diverting  attention  from  the  subject 
in  hand?" 

"What  shall  we  argue  about?"  asked  Hesper, 
amused,  as  she  tucked  away  the  offending  lock. 

"Call  it  exploration  if  you  prefer  it.  Let 's  explore 
each  other." 

Hesper  drew  herself  up  a  little. 

"Oh,  you  can't  help  it,"  Ivors  went  on  with 
his  whimsical  smile.  "Consciously  or  unconsciously 
people  will  explore  you  whether  you  like  or  not.  To 
me,  for  instance,  each  new  person  is  an  adventure 
until  he  or  she,  like  most  things  in  life,  crystallises 
into  a  commonplace." 

"But  they  do  not  all  become  commonplaces, 
surely, "  retorted  Hesper,  vaguely  nettled. 

"No  more  a  commonplace  than  the  stars,  or  the 
power  of  sight,  or  to-day,  or  sunsets — that  is,  the  few. 
But  the  great  majority!  One  gets  used  to  them  so 
soon;  one  ceases  to  look  for  possibilities.  Don't  you 
know  the  feeling?" 

Hesper  had  nodded  admission  almost  before  she 
was  aware. 

"Ah,  I  thought  you  did.  One  feels  there  are  such 
chances  about  new  people,  promises  of  congeniality, 
all  sorts  of  possibilities.  Then  one  goes  exploring, 
making  discoveries,  getting  disappointments,  finding 
limitations,  until  at  last  the  adventure  is  over,  and 
the  person  has  settled  into  his  (or  her)  little  niche 
in  one's  mind,  pigeon-holed  and  put  away  until 
wanted." 


"  To-Day  is  Sweet  "  225 

"That  sounds  cold-blooded  and  calculating." 

"Oh,  no,  it  isn't.  One  knows  exactly  what  one 
will  get,  and  it  is  wiser  to  ask  for  no  more. " 

"And  that  's  sheer  cynicism." 

"Wrong  again,"  answered  Ivors.  "It's  worldly 
wisdom."  His  eyes  aided  his  present  explorations; 
he  had  succeeded  beyond  his  expectations. 

A  quick  sparkle  shone  from  beneath  Miss  Marlowe's 
lashes,  and  a  faint  flush  showed  on  her  white  skin. 

"  I  don't  agree  with  you  at  all, "  she  began. 

"Splendid!  That  is  the  fine  flower  of  every  argu- 
ment. Let  's  get  to  the  root  of  your  disagreement." 

"I  believe  that  there  are  unsounded  depths  in  every 
human  being.  You  can't  docket  and  label  people  as 
you  would  business  papers.  If  the  occasion  arose, 
probably,  those  whom  you  imagine  you  know  best 
might  one  day  surprise  you." 

"What  a  comforting  theory!  And  yet,  on  second 
thoughts,  rather  a  disturbing  one.  Is  all  my  calm 
classification  of  my  friends  to  go  for  nought?  Am  I 
to  live,  as  it  were,  in  all  the  horrible  uncertainty  of  a 
mental  house-cleaning,  not  knowing  if  I  shall  ever 
again  find  anything  where  I  had  once  put  it?" 

Hesper  laughed,  but  there  was  a  little  ring  of  scorn 
in  her  mirth.  His  absurdities  had  fulfilled  their 
laudable  object  of  ruffling  her. 

"Your  calm  classification,  as  you  call  it,  savours 
somewhat  of  superciliousness  to  me 

"By  the  way,"  he  interrupted  delightedly,  "did 
you  ever  hear  why  the  camel  wears  his  air  of  super- 
ciliousness? It  is  because  in  addition  to  the  ninety- 
nine  names  for  Allah,  he  is  aware  of  yet  a  hundredth, 
and  the  possession  of  this  secret,  which  mere  man  can 
is 


226         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

never  learn,  causes  him  to  look  down  upon  the  whole 
race  with  perpetual  scorn. " 

"What  a  delicious  story!" 

"Waive  my  likeness  to  the  camel,  and  continue. 
Are  you  going  to  pull  down  my  Castle  of  Friendship 
about  my  ears?" 

"Oh,  you  need  n't  be  uneasy.  I  said  that  it  was  the 
depths  which  were  unsounded.  Your  classification 
did  not  go  quite  so  far,  I  fancy.  Besides,  even  friend- 
ship does  n't  often  trouble  the  depths.  But  in  friend- 
ship,"  she  continued  in  a  lighter  tone,  "it  seems  to  me 
that  the  more  you  ask  for  the  more  you  get.  If  you 
ask  for  bread  you  get  butter  as  well,  and  sometimes 
jam. " 

"  You  don't,  believe  then,  that  friends  are  like  fiddle- 
strings  and  should  not  be  screwed  too  tight?  " 

"  I  would  rather  say  with  the  French  that  friendship 
is  love  without  its  wings,"  she  answered,  softening 
suddenly. 

"You  have  evidently  been  fortunate  in  your 
friends. " 

"I  have." 

"You  would  be,  naturally.  Your  ideals  of  the  art 
are  high."  He  had  dropped  his  cloak  of  teasing  in 
response  to  her  swift  change  of  mood. 

"Mustn't  the  ideals  of  any  art  be  high?"  Her 
voice  broadened  in  its  Irish  rise  and  fall  as  it  al- 
ways did  when  she  was  moved.  "Surely  you,  of 
all  people  ought  to  know  that !  Is  n't  it  better  to 
burn  your  wings  in  the  fire  of  the  sun  than  to  run 
a  thorn  into  your  knee  crawling  along  the  muddy 
roads?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Ivors  abruptly,  stirred  as  he  had 


"To-Day  is  Sweet"  227 

not  been  for  years.  "If  that 's  not  worldly  wisdom 
at  least  it 's  heavenly  folly. " 

"But  I  am  not  at  all  worldly  wise,"  said  Hesper, 
with  a  little  smile,  "and  I  think  that  remark  verges 
dangerously  on  the  personal." 

Something  wistful  in  his  regard  stirred  the  mother- 
nature  which  is  latent  in  most  women,  and  disturbed 
her  poise  for  the  moment.  Any  need  of  her  woke 
generous  response,  and  it  was  with  a  distinct  effort 
that  she  steeled  herself  against  appeal.  She  turned 
to  see  Moussa  standing  near. 

"I  don't  know  how  long  Moussa  has  been  standing 
here  with  your  painting  things." 

' '  The  mood  has  passed . "  He  shrugged  his  shoulders . 
"The  desire  has  vanished.  I  hope  there  has  not  been 
Black  Magic  at  work." 

"I  hope  not." 

"I  wonder?"  he  said,  with  a  swift  glance.  "Per- 
haps I  had  better  fight  against  it.  Here,  Moussa." 
He  arranged  himself  where  he  could  best  see  his 
symphony  of  amber  and  grey,  and  be  out  of  earshot 
and  eyeshot  of  this  disturbing  person  who  began  to 
occupy  his  thoughts  more  than  he  approved  or 
desired. 

He  knew  himself;  he  knew  his  temperament,  and 
he  saw  danger-signals  far  ahead.  In  their  distance 
lay  his  safety.  To-day  was  his.  He  would  enjoy  it 
to  the  full.  On  the  thought  he  rose,  pushed  aside  his 
easel,  and  came  back  to  the  divan  where  Hesper  sat 
warm  with  a  sense  of  quickened  life,  of  newly  dawning 
interests. 

"  Don't  you  agree  with  the  Germans, "  he  said  with- 
out preamble,  "  that  To-day  is  worth  ten  To-morrows? 


228         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

'  To-morrow,  why  To-morrow  I  may  be,  Myself  with 
Yesterday's  sev'n  thousand  years. ' ' 

"Unborn  To-morrow  and  dead  Yesterday." 

"Why  fret  about  them  if  To-day  be  sweet?" 
capped  Hesper. 

"Ah,  you  love  the  old  Pagan  too!" 

"I  do." 

"And  is  To-day  sweet?" 

"It  is  indeed,"  said  Hesper,  with  convincing  sin- 
cerity. "I  love  old  Omar's  rapid  transitions,  and 
some  of  his  philosophy."  She  elongated  the  "o"  in 
love  with  a  caressing  effect  which  Ivors,  later,  came 
to  know  and  look  for. 

"He  fits  my  case  so  often,"  said  Ivors  ruefully. 
"The  Persians  give  the  Rubaiyat  a  mystical  meaning 
and  say  that  Omar  meant  by  the  Tavern  the  Soul, 
by  the  Cup  the  Universe,  and  by  Wine  Truth,  but  I 
prefer  the  more  literal  rendering.  Have  n't  you,  too, 
sworn  repentance  before  Spring  came — 'and  Rose-in- 
Hand,  My  threadbare  Penitence  to  pieces  tore?" 

"  I — don't  know, "  replied  Hesper  dubiously.  "  You 
see,  until  lately  I  have  never  had  a  chance  of  doing 
anything  that  called  for  much  repentance." 

"You  speak  in  a  delightful  tone  of  regret.  I  hope 
you  made  full  use  of  your  opportunities  when  they 
came." 

"They  didn't  come.  At  least — perhaps — only 
those  that  would  n't  have  been  worth  repenting  for. " 

It  was  a  curious  remark;  an  odd  regret.  Ivors 
had  an  impression  as  of  the  momentary  subsidence 
of  the  froth  of  conversation  which  showed  deep  waters 
flowing  beneath. 

He  wondered  where  the  depths  of  this  woman's 


"  To-Day  is  Sweet  "  229 

nature  ran.  Her  contradictions  of  character  at  once 
piqued  and  drew  him;  her  delicate  aloofness,  her  warm 
responsiveness;  her  quick  sympathy,  her  power  of 
instant  detachment ;  her  gaiety,  her  light  reticence,  all 
combined  to  form  a  personality  as  elusive,  and  attrac- 
tive as — he  sought  for  a  simile,  but  found  no  fitting 
one. 

Meanwhile  Gerda  and  Hildred,  tired  of  arranging 
their  photographs,  strolled  up  to  them. 

The  Nitocris  had  emerged  from  the  shadow  of  the 
Bird  Mountain  which  now  bulked  behind  them,  almost 
titanic  in  that  level  country. 

"Why  is  it  called  the  Bird  Mountain?"  Gerda 
demanded.  "Smarlie  is  thirsting  for  information, 
but  she  's  too  polite  to  say  so. " 

"Study  thy  Baedeker,"  answered  Ivors  lazily. 
"You  will  find  an  invaluable  amount  of  information 
therein." 

"But  have  you  nothing  personal  to  add?  You, 
Mr.  Ivors,  as  an  old  resident  should  be  full  of  those 
little  odd  touches  which  add — er — human  interest  to 
foreign  travel. " 

"In  the  days  of  my  younger  youth  and  wilder 
energy,"  answered  Ivors,  "I  was  drawn  in  a  basket 
by  means  of  a  windlass  up  a  cleft  in  that  mountain. 
It  's  a  miserable  place  when  you  get  there,  and  the 
only  pleasure  is  to  get  away.  My  one  personal  recol- 
lection is  of  a  dim  little  sanctuary  cut  out  of  the  solid 
rock,  and  a  fine  old  Byzantine  gateway  half-buried  in 
the  accumulations  of  years.  Will  that  satisfy  you, 
your  ladyship?" 

"  It 's  dull, "  said  Gerda,  sitting  on  a  cushion  on  the 
deck.  "We  want  to  be  amused,  don't  we,  Hildred?" 


230         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

"Yes,"  responded  Hildred,  perching  herself  on  the 
end  of  the  divan.  "Did  I  hear  you  talking  of  Omar 
Khayyam?  Have  you  any  fresh  lights  to  throw  on 
the  Rubaiyat?" 

"Heaven  forbid!"  cried  her  father.  "We  can't 
have  the  infallibility  of  young  England  casting  its 
searchlight  on  our  ignorance!"  Then,  as  he  noted 
Hildred's  ready  flush,  he  turned  to  her  and  said, 
"But  here  's  a  personal  note  which  may  interest  you. 
I  Ve  seen  the  place  where  Omar  was  buried. " 

"Have  you  been  to  Persia?  I  never  knew," 
exclaimed  the  girl. 

"You  don't  know  much  about  my  wanderings." 

"Whose  fault  is  that?"  she  cried  under  her  breath, 
yet  not  so  low  but  that  the  words  were  heard  both 
by  Miss  Marlowe  and  Ivors. 

"Whose  misfortune,  you  mean?"  retorted  Ivors 
quickly  continuing:  "He  was  buried,  by  his  own 
desire,  at  the  foot  of  a  garden  wall  over  which  hung 
the  branches  of  pear-  and  peach-trees,  which  strewed 
his  tomb  with  a  perfumed  rosy  snow.  Eastern  writers 
call  it  the  snow  of  Paradise.  Now  neither  wall  nor 
garden  remains  and  only  the  blossoms  of  the  wild  shed 
their  petals  where  he  lies.  Still,  his  desire  is  fulfilled, 
for,  as  he  wished,  his  tomb  is  in  a  spot  where  the 
north  wind  may  scatter  roses  over  it — roses  whose 
fragrance — what 's  the  matter?" 

"  I  Ve  got  a  cramp, "  cried  Gerda,  jumping  up  and 
hopping  about  on  one  foot.  "It 's  from  sitting  still 
so  long,  I  do  believe." 

"Stand  on  your  head  for  a  change,"  Roddy  sug- 
gested, looking  up  from  his  book. 

"Learn  step-dancing,"  said  Ivors.     "I  once  knew 


"  To- Day  is  Sweet "  231 

the  Highland  fling.  That  ought  to  work  off  some  of 
your  superfluous  energy." 

"Or  the  can-can,"  put  in  Hildred,  who  had  not  yet 
quite  forgiven  her  father. 

"  I  can  teach  you  an  Irish  jig  if  you  like, "  said  Miss 
Marlowe  quickly.  "But  I  warn  you  that  it 's  warm 
work,  and  I  may  find  some  difficulty  in  playing  and 
dancing  at  the  same  time  unless  I '  jig  with  me  mouth ' 
as  our  old  gardener  used  to  say. " 

"What  does  that  mean?" 

"  Hum,  of  course,  you  duffer, "  said  Roddy.  "  Don't 
let  them  bully  you,  Smarlie.  They  're  well  able  to 
amuse  themselves. " 

"Come  along,  Hildred,  let 's  get  our  cameras  and 
snap  these  Nile-boats  coming  down,"  cried  Gerda, 
confiding  to  the  girl  as  they  disappeared  that  it  really 
was  more  the  poetry  than  the  cramp  which  had  upset 
her — she  could  n't  stand  poetry  at  any  price ! 


CHAPTER  VIII 

BELHASARD 

AT    sunset    the    Nitocris    moored  below  Minieh. 
The  town  showed  picturesque  in  the  glowing 
dusk  with  its  flat-topped  houses,  its  palm-clusters, 
and  its  three  slender  minarets  which  stood  clearly 
outlined  against  the  evening  sky. 

To  the  left  the  Arabian  Hills,  here  rising  like  a 
fortress,  there  bulking  like  some  colossus  lying  in  state, 
glowed  like  deep  gold.  Their  reflection  stretched 
across  the  Nile,  turning  it  to  a  river  of  molten  gold, 
ever  burning  deeper  and  more  intense  until  the  sun 
suddenly  dipped  below  the  Libyan  horizon,  leaving 
the  world  agasp  at  the  swift  change.  The  golden  hills 
became  dun;  the  golden  river  a  dark  flowing  mass 
slashed  here  and  there  with  silver  spears,  until  the 
afterglow  brightened  the  sky  and  faintly  flushed  the 
disconsolate  mountains  with  rose. 

A  cottage  piano  was  on  the  upper  deck,  and  every 
evening  after  dinner  Hesper  played. 

Ivors  did  not  know  whether  he  was  pleased  or 
disappointed  to  find  that  Hildred  was  not  musical. 
To  Hildred  it  came  with  a  little  shock  of  distaste  to 
hear  her  father  sing  love-songs  in  a  light  and  pleasant 
baritone  voice. 

232 


Belhasard  233 

The  Nugents  declared  that  they  loved  music,  but  it 
is  to  be  feared  that  they  preferred  Gerda's  two-steps, 
and  one-steps  and  rag-time  rubbish  to  the  more  classi- 
cal expressions  of  the  art  which  Hesper  Marlowe  had 
carefully  instilled  into  her. 

Of  them  all  Hesper  and  Ivors  were  the  only  real 
music-lovers,  and  when  he  discovered  this  further 
bond,  the  slim  fingers,  which  drew  such  delicious 
harmony  out  of  the  indifferent  piano,  and  which 
accompanied  with  such  rare  sympathy,  were  seldom 
left  idle. 

Now,  out  into  the  blue  dusk  throbbed  the  longing 
notes  of  a  Chopin  waltz.  It  stirred  Hildred  to  a 
woodland  memory;  it  drew  for  Roddy  a  girl's  face 
framed  in  chestnut  hair;  it  tapped  and  peered  at  a 
locked  door  in  Ivors's  heart,  and  it  set  alight  the  fires 
of  youth  in  Gerda's  feet  and  made  her  long  to  dance. 

She  rose  with  a  whirl  of  white  skirts  and  swooped 
on  the  player. 

"Play  us  a  real  waltz,  Smarlie, "  she  cried.  "I 
shall  scream  or  burst  if  I  don't  dance.  Come,  Mr. 
Ivors,  and  Roddy,  take  Hildred.  No  one  plays  a 
waltz  like  Smarlie.  Play  May  Dreams  like  a  lamb, 
and  the  very  deck  chairs  will  get  up  and  dance. " 

"How  do  lambs  play  waltzes?"  asked  Hesper  with 
a  smile  and  a  half -smothered  sigh,  as  she  turned  from 
Chopin  into  the  swinging  melody  desired  by  Gerda. 

One  dance  followed  another.  Roddy  forgot  his 
invalidism,  and  he  and  Gerda  volunteered  to  teach  the 
Ivorses  all  the  newest  varieties. 

With  flushed  cheeks  and  girlish  zest  Hildred  entered 
into  the  spirit  of  the  moment.  So  did  Ivors,  who  was 
quicker  to  learn  and  more  alert  than  his  daughter. 


234         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

"I  've  had  more  practice,  you  see, "  he  said,  as  she 
stopped  once,  breathless.  "This  is  the  way  it  goes." 
He  swung  her  round  lightly.  He  was  a  far  better 
dancer  than  Roddy. 

At  last  he  stopped  near  the  piano. 

"You  have  piped  long  enough  for  us  to  dance  to," 
he  said.  "  Come,  dance  with  me  for  a  change.  Miss 
Nugent  will  play.  She  looks  quite  worn  out. " 

"Worn  out?  Well,  I  like  that,"  said  Gerda,  sub- 
siding on  the  piano  stool.  "I  could  dance  all  night 
without  turning  a  hair. " 

"Ah,  wait  until  you  are  my  age,"  Ivors  retorted 
over  his  shoulder,  as  he  slipped  his  arm  round  Hesper's 
waist  and  moved,  swaying,  into  the  cleared  space. 

The  refrain  rose  and  fell  rhythmically,  and  though 
the  music  lacked  the  witchery  of  Hesper's  touch  it  was 
a  loss  unfelt  by  her.  She  heard,  in  response  to  the 
honey-sweet  notes,  the  beating  of  the  wings  of  her 
vanishing  youth.  It  was  an  exquisite  physical  joy, 
and  her  feet  could  have  woven  that  measure  until 
Night  drew  her  veil  from  the  face  of  the  waters,  and 
left  the  world  still  enough,  as  in  primeval  days,  to  hear 
the  morning-stars  sing  together. 

Ivors  had  never  danced  with  such  a  partner,  or  one 
so  responsive  to  the  faintest  hint  of  movement.  He, 
too,  felt  the  thrill  and  zest  of  youth;  he,  too,  had 
the  sense  that  but  one  body  moved  in  such  perfect 
harmony. 

"Where  did  you  learn  to  dance?"  he  asked  at  last. 

"I  never  learned.     I  always  knew. " 

"The  magic  of  the  night  is  in  your  feet,"  he  mur- 
mured. "  Black  magic,  or  white  magic?  Which  is  it, 
I  wonder?" 


Belhasard  235 

"Let 's  stop,"  said  Hesper,  shrinking  vaguely  from 
she  knew  not  what. 

Ivors's  clasp  tightened  slightly.  "Just  one  more 
turn  and  then  we  '11  go  and  look  at  the  stars. " 

Not  one  more  turn  but  many,  till  seconds  merged 
into  unnoted  minutes — a  time-forgetful  spell  woven 
by  pleasure,  acknowledged  and  unacknowledged. 

At  last  the  music  stopped,  and  Hesper  drew  away 
from  him.  She  moved  towards  the  railing  and  looked 
into  the  dark  water  which  slipped  mysteriously  past 
the  moored  vessel. 

Beyond,  the  minarets  in  the  blue  dusk  of  night  were 
delicate  as  the  silhouette  of  a  seeded  flower.  The 
orange  lights  of  the  town  winked  and  glimmered. 
Away  from  the  distance  came  the  howl  of  a  jackal. 

In  the  circle  of  light  near  the  piano  Sir  George  was 
being  initiated  into  the  mysteries  of  the  Boston.  Lady 
Nugent  knitted  placidly,  smiling  at  her  thoughts, 
which  were  Machiavellian  (in  her  own  innocent  esti- 
mation) to  a  degree  undreamed  of  by  those  around 
her;  smiling  placidly  at  the  two  who  had  withdrawn 
themselves  into  the  shadows;  over  whose  heads  shone 
a  remote  beneficent  moon  in  a  sky  bejewelled  with 
stars. 

No  sound  reached  them  except  the  lapping  and  mur- 
muring of  the  water  and  the  thin  howl  of  the  jackal, 
prowling  perhaps  where  kings  once  had  trodden. 

"You  enjoyed  it?"  Ivors  whispered. 

"I  did." 

He  straightened  himself  with  a  hard  little  laugh. 

"Absurd  to  think  that  I,  the  father  of  a  grown- 
up daughter,  should  dance  with  all  the  zest  of  a 
boy!" 


236         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

If  the  self-accusatory  phrase  stung  Hesper  she  made 
no  sign.  She  echoed  his  laugh. 

"And  to  think  that  I,  a  middle-aged  woman ' 

"  Don't  be  ridiculous. "  His  tone  sounded  cross,  but 
it  was  an  ire  that  warmed  rather  than  chilled  the  heart 
of  the  woman  beside  him.  "  You  're  not  middle-aged. " 

"Ah,  but  lam." 

"Ah,  but  you  're  not,"  mocked  Ivors. 

"Then  neither  are  you,"  she  retorted. 

"Neither  am  I?"  he  echoed  sadly,  looking  into  the 
vista  of  empty  years,  and  seeing  old  Time,  the  cynic, 
with  his  scythe  and  swelling  sheaf  of  days.  "You  've 
got  the  true  secret,  you  wonder-worker.  Perhaps  you 
could  teach  me  how  to  be  really  young. " 

"Ah,  no.     You  know  yourself . " 

"It's  a  mockery  and  a  delusion,"  said  Ivors. 
"What  paints  the  semblance  of  my  youth  is  that  I 
am  always  wondering,  always  wanting." 

"What  are  you  wanting?"  she  asked  half -shyly, 
fearful  of  trespassing. 

"I  am  wanting,"  he  began.  Then  he  stopped  and 
bent  towards  her  in  the  starlight.  "  Most  of  all  I  am 
wanting — as  you  picturesquely  put  it — to  know  how 
you  kept  your  heart  and  soul  unwarped  in  those 
dreary  days  in  which  you  sold  the  art  you  love  for 
a  miserable  pittance?" 

"Ah,  but  it  was  n't  a  miserable  pittance, "  answered 
Hesper,  spreading  out  her  fingers  and  looking  at  them. 
Ivors  looked  at  them  too,  and  thought,  for  one  mad 
moment,  how  good  they  would  be  to  have  and  to  hold, 
to  caress,  to  cling  to  in  an  hour  of  need.  "  My  salary 
was  considered  very  good." 

"How  much  was  it?" 


Belhasard  237 

She  told  him. 

"Good  Lord!"  he  said.     "What  beasts  we  are!" 

She  made  no  comment.  She  did  not  try  to  follow 
his  train  of  thought. 

"And  you  had  a  starved  life,"  he  continued  in  a 
fierce  tone.  "  I  know.  You  've  told  me  that  you  had 
no  one  belonging  to  you. " 

"Yes,  I  was  often  lonely,"  she  answered  simply. 
"  I  had  no  one  of  my  very  own. " 

"Nor  I." 

"You  had  Hildred, "  she  said  quickly. 

"True.  I  forgot."  He  thought  for  a  bitter 
moment  of  the  full  life  a  man  may  have  who  owns 
wife  and  children.  "But  you?  You  must  have  had 
something  or  some  one. " 

"Yes,  I  had — some  one."  She  turned  away  with 
a  little  catch  in  her  breath. 

"Who  was  your  friend?"  he  asked  quickly. 

In  the  darkness  he  could  not  see  the  sudden  red  that 
rushed  to  her  face.  Her  cheeks  were  burning.  She 
felt  tongue-tied ;  shy  as  a  child  and  yet  with  a  wistful 
desire  that  he  should  understand. 

"Do  you  know  Browning?"  she  asked,  hesitating. 

"Tolerably  well,"  he  answered,  surprised  at  her 
irrelevance. 

"  Do  you  remember  a  poem  of  his  called  Fears  and 
Scruples?"  Timidity  fluttered  her  tones. 

He  wondered  why. 

"Do  you  remember  the  last  line?  'What  if  the 
friend  happen  to  be — God?'  "  she  whispered. 

Ivors  was  silent.  He  was  no  frequenter  of  church  or 
chapel,  sanctuary  or  synagogue.  It  was  years  since 
he  had  heard  the  sacred  Name  uttered  otherwise  than 


238         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

in  vain.  He  cried  to  himself,  "O,  you  dear  woman! 
You  dear  woman!"  but  he  did  not  dare  to  give  his 
cry  utterance. 

For  one  moment,  fleet  as  thought,  he  touched  the 
hand  that  lay  white  beside  his  on  the  rail,  and  with- 
drew it  again  while  he  sought  mentally  for  a  fitting 
comparison  for  her.  Rainbow,  dawn-mist,  moonlight 
were  too  ethereal,  too  unstable.  Beneath  the  surface 
lay  qualities  as  true  and  unchanging,  as  high  and  pure 
as  any  "fixed  star."  Ah,  that  was  it!  The  idea 
pleased  him — "a  fixed  star. " 

"What  is  your  name?"  he  asked  in  his  usual 
impulsive  way. 

"Is  this  a  new  form  of  catechism?"  She  drew 
herself  up  a  little,  surprised,  yet  grateful  for  the 
unexpected  turn  of  the  conversation. 

"No,  but  I  'm  odd.  I  have  fancies  about  people's 
names.  I  like  to  know  what  they  are — to  see  if  they 
fit." 

"Your  own,  for  instance?" 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  impatiently. 

"  My  own  is  like  that  of  the  silliest  possible  hero  of 
the  silliest  possible  novelette.  Ingram  Ivors!  Did 
you  ever  hear  anything  so  absolutely  revolting?  For 
many  years  my  most  burning  desire  has  been  to  choke 
my  godfathers  and  godmothers. " 

"And  your  nom  de  brosse?"  she  laughed  softly. 

"My  nom  de  brosse,  as  you  call  it,  is  I  believe  the 
farthing  rushlight  which  for  years  I  have  been  pleased 
to  consider  my  guiding  star. "  He  gave  his  head  an 
impatient  shake,  as  if  he  would  have  flung  from  him 
some  accustomed  burden.  "But  yours?  You  have  n't 
told  me  your  name  yet?" 


Belhasard  239 

"  My  name  is  Hesper  Belhasard  Marlowe,  at  your 
service. " 

"Hesper  Belhasard.  Ah,"  he  said  with  soft 
exultance,  "I  knew  it.  I  knew  that  you  were  a  star 
of  some  sort. " 

"  How  did  you  know?  Was  it  intuition  or  thought- 
reading?  I  begin  to  suspect  that  you  accuse  me  of 
practising  the  Black  Art  in  order  to  divert  attention 
from  yourself." 

"It's  the  artistic  temperament,  I  suppose,"  he 
answered,  ignoring  her  little  jest.  "I  feel  things;  I 
know  things,  somehow.  I  knew  you  were  a  star." 

The  earnestness  of  his  insistence  robbed  the  words 
of  any  petty  complimentary  meaning. 

"I  was  called  Hesper  because  I  was  born  in  the 
evening.  I  was  called  Belhasard  because  it  was  the 
name  of  the  place  where  my  father  and  mother  first 
met — "  her  voice  broke,  but  Ivors  understood. 

"Hesper  Belhasard,"  he  repeated  half  under  his 
breath.  "Hesper  Belhasard.  The  beautiful  hazard 
of  the  evening  Star!  It  is  the  loveliest  name  I  have 
ever  heard.  It  exhales  the  fine  flower  of  mediaevalism 
and  the  spirit  of-  old  romance,  and  yet  it  is  as  much  a 
part  of  you — I  must  say  it — as  is  your  beautiful  hair 
or  your  milk-white  skin.  Hesper  Belhasard!  I  could 
repeat  it  a  thousand  times  for  the  mere  pleasure  of  the 
sound  of  it.  It 's  like — a  bell  in  a  forest,  or  water 
lapping,  or  a  bird  calling." 

"  I  am  glad  you  like  it, "  said  Hesper  simply. 

She  turned  as  if  to  join  the  others,  then  paused  for 
a  moment,  hesitant  on  the  verge  of  an  impulse. 

"Won't  you  forget  my  unconsidered  speeches?" 
she  asked  at  last,  with  a  low  coaxing  inflection. 


240         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

"No,  I  won't,"  answered  Ivors  bluntly. 

"Please  believe,"  she  went  on,  looking  down  at  the 
narrow  boards  of  the  deck,  "please  believe  that  the 
night,  or  the  dancing,  or — the  atmosphere,  got  into  my 
head  and  bewitched  me  to  the  point  of  a  very  unusual 
confidence." 

"Don't  regret  it,"  said  Ivors  without  moving. 
"Perhaps  unknown  to  yourself  you  Ve  done  the  best 
deed  you  ever  did  in  your  life.  You  've  shown  me  that 
there  is  at  least  one  woman  in  the  world  who  has — a 
soul." 

"I?" 

"Yes,  you — Hesper  Belhasard, "  he  answered  softly. 

Her  face  was  in  shadow,  but  the  lights  near  the 
piano  shone  upon  his,  and  showed  it  suddenly  tired 
and  worn. 

"Yes,  you — Hesper  Belhasard,"  he  repeated,  and 
there  was  something  in  the  smile  with  which  he 
accompanied  the  words  that  brought  a  swift  rush  of 
tears  to  Hesper 's  eyes. 


N 


CHAPTER  IX 

DRIFTING 

EVER  again,"  answered  Lady  Nugent  firmly. 
"Wild  horses " 

"Or  tame  donkeys,"  put  in  Gerda. 

"Shall  not  drag  me  sight-seeing  unless  I  can  go  in 
comfort.  I  consider  that  it  is  positively  indecent 
for  a  woman  of  my  age  and  size  to  ride  a  donkey. " 

"Yes,  you  did  bulge  rather  over  yours,  mammy," 
said  the  disrespectful  Gerda. 

"Don't  mind  her,  Lady  Nugent.  I  believe  she 
picked  out  the  smallest  donkey  for  you  and  the  largest 
for  herself,"  exclaimed  Hesper. 

"Don't  flatter  yourself — Smarlie.  You  bulged 
too." 

"I  don't  care,"  answered  Hesper,  lying  back  in  her 
deck-chair.  "  I  enjoyed  it  all. " 

Yes,  she  had  enjoyed  it  all;  the  peaceful  ambling 
by  Lady  Nugent's  side  over  the  biscuit-coloured  sands, 
whose  rocks  held  little  sand-coloured  birds  with  pink 
bills,  which  cheeped  and  peeped  at  them  as  they  passed 
on  their  way  to  the  famous  Tombs  at  Beni-Hassan. 

Gerda  had  incited  the  more  energetic  spirits  to  a 
donkey-race,  and  the  five  had  vanished  in  a  cloud  of 
dust,  halting  not  until  they  drew  up,  breathless,  at  the 

16  241 


242         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

foot  of  the  steep  crumbling  ascent  which  led  to  the 
Tombs,  where  a  knot  of  Arabs,  white-robed,  wild-eyed, 
and  armed  with  guns — the  Guardians  of  the  Tombs — 
awaited  them. 

Ivors,  who  had  been  talking  to  the  Arabs,  came 
forward  as  the  slower  travellers  approached.  Roddy 
had  forestalled  him  in  mounting  Hesper,  but  neither 
Roddy  nor  Arab  donkey-boy  should  dismount  her. 

It  was  with  an  odd  dream-like  sensation  that  she 
had  felt  the  touch  of  his  arms  about  her  again.  A 
dream-like  sensation  which  lasted  through  the  steep 
ascent  and  the  opening  of  the  modern  iron  gates  that 
guarded  the  many-centuried  tombs;  which  coloured 
her  subsequent  impressions  of  square  chambers  arched 
and  pillared  and  cut  out  of  the  living  rock,  whose  roofs 
were  diapered  in  faded  brown  and  cream  and  blue,  and 
whose  dim  wall-paintings  of  dancers,  fan-bearers, 
hunters,  wrestlers,  weavers,  potters,  in  stiff  subser- 
vience to  the  mighty  dead,  gave  a  faint  impression  of 
colour  to  the  big  bare  place. 

It  was  the  view  outside  the  Tombs  which  had  inter- 
ested her  most,  and  she  left  the  others  to  explore 
farther  while  she  stood  upon  the  narrow  plateau,  and 
looked  from  the  buff  and  umber  hillside,  barren  and 
crumbling,  to  the  winding  Nile,  which  lay  beneath  in 
broad  blue  stretches,  its  colour  enhanced  by  the  vivid 
green  of  the  springing  corn  at  either  side,  its  hyaline 
surface  reflecting,  with  almost  startling  clearness,  the 
snow-peaked  sails  of  the  boats  upon  its  bosom. 

She  had  sighed  with  pleasure,  and  then  smiled  to 
find  Ivors  at  her  side. 

"I  hate  underground  or  enclosed  places,"  she  said. 
"  I  always  feel  as  if  I  must  come  out  to  the  air  again. " 


Drifting  243 

" So  do  I, "  he  answered.  "That  is  why  the  Tombs 
of  the  Kings  and  even  the  perfect  temple  of  Edfu 
depress  me. " 

"Which  is  your  favourite  temple?     Philae?" 

"Lord  forbid,  no!  Poor  drowning,  mildewing, 
moribund  Philae !  Her  beauty  is  the  beauty  of  tears 
and  death  now.  No,  I  won't  tell  you.  You  '11  have 
to  tell  me." 

"Will  you  be  disappointed  if  I  am  wrong?"  she 
asked. 

"You  won't  be  wrong,' '  he  answered  with  confidence. 
"  I  '11  give  you  a  hint.  It  is  the  temple  where  the  love- 
colour  is  found  in  its  greatest  perfection.  Lord,  listen 
to  those  bees!  If  you  shut  your  eyes  to  Egypt  you 
could  imagine  yourself  in  a  garden  full  of  mignonette 
and  roses." 

"Bees?"  she  echoed.     "I  thought  I  heard  them." 

"Yes,  the  place  is  full  of  them.  Wild  bees  and 
sparrows  are  the  sole  inhabitants  of  the  temples  these 
days.  You  will  hear  their  hum  and  chirp  through  the 
Nile-Song  if  you  listen." 

"Another  note  of  it,  thanks, "  she  said  softly,  closing 
her  eyes  till  her  lashes  lay  like  a  curved  fringe  against 
the  warm  pallor  of  her  cheek. 

Ivors  drew  a  sharp  breath  and  turned  away.  But 
he  mounted  her  before  he  started  with  the  others  on 
the  homeward  race,  and  he  was  ready  to  dismount  her 
again  when  they  had  passed  the  clustered  mud  village, 
through  whose  palm-stems  the  sun  shone  red,  and 
reached  the  stage  where  the  Nitocris  was  moored. 

There  were  no  more  such  intimate  moments  as  in 
the  starlight  at  Minieh.  The  lotus-life,  as  Ivors  called 
it,  added  a  petal  each  day  towards  its  full  flowering, 


244         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

and  Hesper  steeled  herself  no  longer  against  this  man, 
who,  but  for  his  little-known  daughter,  seemed  to  be 
just  as  lonely  at  heart  as  she  was.  She  warmed  her- 
self in  the  sunshine  of  life  as  it  came,  not  realising  what 
filled  each  day  with  a  greater  radiance,  a  more  encom- 
passing brilliance.  She  floated  on  the  stream  of  hours 
without  pausing  for  an  instant  to  conjecture  whither 
she  was  drifting. 

The  ancient  magic  of  the  Nile  was  enforced  by  the 
spell  which  Ivors  found  therein  and  imparted  hourly 
to  her.  It  was  as  new  and  yet  as  old  as  the  daedal  life 
which  unfolded  itself  daily  upon  the  banks.  It  whis- 
pered in  the  tracts  of  tall  purple-stemmed  sugar-cane, 
always  rustling,  never  silent,  through  whose  miniature 
thickets  flitted  water- wagtails,  bright-eyed,  vibrating, 
and  bee-eaters,  green  as  the  fires  of  spring ;  in  the  palm- 
groves,  in  the  feathery  mimosa,  whose  scent  the  warm 
wind  blew  across  the  still  waters,  or  in  the  dark  acacias 
beneath  whose  shade  sat  the  village  patriarchs  in 
flowing  robes. 

He  showed  her  the  blue,  green,  and  brown  which 
are  the  prevailing  tones  in  the  colour-harmony  of  pas- 
toral Egypt,  and  then,  with  whimsical  insistence, 
pointed  out  the  value  of  the  variants  from  the  general 
scheme.  She  loved  to  see  the  creaking  water-wheels 
whose  strings  of  red  earthen  pots  gleamed  like  a  neck- 
lace of  cornelians  as  they  rose  dripping  from  the  water 
beneath;  the  bronze-limbed,  half -naked  men  who 
worked  the  shaddfs  on  the  bank ;  the  strings  of  camels 
silhouetted  against  grotesque  hedges  of  pale  green 
prickly  pear. 

Together  they  watched  the  blue-girt  felldh,  as  he 
drove  his  plough,  the  primitive  implement  of  past 


Drifting  245 

centuries,  along  the  rich  brown  furrows;  singing,  as 
he  guided  his  fawn-humped  cow,  a  rude  primal  melody 
of  two  or  three  notes  with  a  sudden  turn  and  an 
unexpected  drop  at  the  end.  Together  they  noted  the 
pylon-shaped  pigeon-houses  which  rose  above  the  flat- 
topped  huts,  ramparted  with  red  earthen  pots  and 
serried  with  horizontal  branches  for  the  birds  to  perch 
on;  while  down  to  the  watering-places,  in  the  orange 
dusk,  came  black-robed  women  with  grey-green  water- 
jars,  mites  of  red-shawled  girls  or  white-capped  urchins 
driving  dun  cows  or  lumbering  water-buffaloes;  shep- 
herds, staff  in  hand,  leading  their  flocks  of  curly  black- 
horned  sheep  or  piebald,  flap-eared  goats;  while, 
squatting  on  the  bank  above,  men  in  rolled  turbans 
and  rough  white  draperies  shouted  out  jest  or  comment 
as  they  busily  plied  little  wooden  spindles,  spinning 
wool,  black  or  brown. 

Sometimes  when  the  Nitocris  tied  up  at  night  they 
would  see  tiny  huts  made  of  straw  mats  sheltering 
fellahin  who  watched  their  crops  by  leaping  fires; 
the  incessant  barking  of  dogs  being  the  only  indication 
of  the  proximity  of  a  village,  and  the  querulous  howling 
of  jackals  reminiscent  of  the  desolation  so  hardly  kept 
at  bay.  Above  all  and  through  all  sounded  the  insist- 
ent lapping  of  the  water,  as  if  to  tell  them  that  the 
Nile  was  Egypt,  and  Egypt  was  the  Nile. 

"  I  should  like  to  die  by  running  water, "  Ivors  said 
once. 

"  I  would  rather  live  by  running  water, "  Hesper  had 
answered.  "What  does  it  matter  where  one  dies? 
One  has  to  leave  it  all. " 

"Oh,  it  does  matter, "  said  Ivors  with  a  little  shrug. 
"Dying  is  the  last  great  adventure.  One  should 


246         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

set  forth  on  it  fittingly.  I  hope  I  shall.  I  often  doubt 
it.  I  am  a  coward  at  heart,  I  think,"  he  continued 
after  a  moment's  pause.  "I  am  not  fit  for  the  great 
adventure  yet. " 

Hesper  had  no  words  in  which  to  answer  him.  She 
wanted  to  comfort,  but  her  natural  reticence  put  bonds 
on  speech.  How  was  she  to  judge  another  human 
being,  that  hieroglyph  which  no  mere  mortal  can  ever 
hope  to  read? 

"Don't  think  too  much  about  it,"  she  answered  at 
last,  smiling  at  him  with  her  eyes  more  than  her  lips. 
"If  one  could  only  live  well  the  rest  would  be  easy 
enough." 

Live  well!  The  words  echoed  and  stung.  The 
memory  of  past  follies,  past  indulgences,  past  caprices 
crowded  upon  Ivors.  An  innate  fastidiousness  had 
always  kept  him  from  the  grosser  evils,  but  cut  adrift, 
rudderless,  as  he  had  been  in  the  hottest  fire  of  his 
manhood,  what  wonder  if  he  had  fed  the  flame  with 
the  chaff  and  tinder  of  life?  The  ashes  were,  for  the 
most  part,  dead  and  ghost-like  now,  yet  they  were 
there,  crowding  but  not  extinguishing  the  embers 
that  still  smouldered,  ready,  if  fed,  to  flare  into  life 
again. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  living  well — purple  and 
fine  linen,  or  being  a  good  boy  and  going  to  church 
twice  on  Sundays?" 

' '  Neither, ' '  answered  Hesper  shortly.  The  mockery 
of  his  tone  ruffled  her. 

"Do  you  mean  dropping  anchor  in  some  peaceful 
harbour  and  never  sailing  on  the  troubled  waters  any 
more?"  He  felt  a  sudden  desire  to  tease  her,  to  prick 
her  into  warm  retort. 


Drifting  247 

"You  know  I  don't."  She  turned  sparkling  eyes 
on  him. 

"Marriage  is  supposed  to  be  an  anchor,"  he  went 
on,  looking  at  a  kite  which  wheeled  and  screamed  with 
thin  petulance  as  it  swooped  to  snatch  some  morsel 
from  the  water  with  its  strong  claws.  "  Since  mine — 
dragged — I  have  drifted  in  strange  waters." 

"Is  that  simile  original,  Mr.  Ivors?"  asked  Gerda, 
joining  them.  "I  fancy  I  Ve  heard  it  before." 

"Nothing  is  original  in  this  time-worn  planet,  your 
ladyship,"  he  said  with  forced  lightness.  "Every 
phrase  and  fable  can  be  traced  either  to  the  sun-myth 
or  the  story  of  Eden. " 

"  Still,  I  don't  see  where  the  anchor  metaphor  comes 
in,"  Gerda  persisted.  "For  my  own  part  I  should 
never  like  to  anchor.  I  'd  like  to  tie  up  occasionally, 
but  that  's  all. " 

"Do  you  speak  matrimonially?  What  shocking 
sentiments!" 

"Matrimonially?  Me?"  cried  the  girl  with  em- 
phatic lack  of  grammar.  "  I  'm  dead  off  matrimony. 
So  's  Hildred.  Are  n't  you,  Hildred?  Come  here 
and  join  the  fray." 

Hildred  came  slowly  forward.  She  had  no  desire  to 
be  forced  into  a  discussion  upon  such  a  subject.  Her 
father's  eyes  met  hers  with  a  sort  of  mocking  challenge. 
A  Pan-spirit  of  impersonal  defiance  seemed  to  have 
seized  him. 

"Well,  Hildred?  What  are  your  views?"  he  asked, 
swinging  his  foot  against  the  rail  on  which  he 
sat. 

He  looked  boyish,  irrelevant,  perched  there,  and 
a  wave  of  anger  at  his  callous  insouciance  broke  over 


248         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

Hildred.  How  dared  he?  How  dared  he  ask  her  such 
a  question  before  these  people,  who,  charming  as  they 
were,  were  strangers  yester-year? 

"  I  have  none, "  she  answered  coldly.  "  How  could 
I,  unless  you  consider  me  in  the  position  of  the  on- 
looker, who  is  popularly  supposed  to  see  most  of 
the  game?" 

For  the  first  time  she  looked  at  her  father  with  her 
mother's  eyes,  and  saw  something  of  the  maddening 
indifference,  the  careless  self-confidence  which  had 
driven  the  older  woman  to  revolt.  She  felt  for  the 
moment  that  she  hated  his  assumption  of  youth  and 
the  youthful  graces  that  made  him  so  popular,  his 
singing,  his  dancing,  his  charm  of  manner.  She  would 
have  better  understood  a  more  dignified  attitude  to- 
wards life;  a  calmer  resignation  to  its  buffets  would 
have  won  her  sympathy,  but  this  careless  enjoyment 
of  to-day  and  to-morrow,  this  almost  boyish  zest  in 
the  trivialities  of  the  moment  alienated  rather  than 
drew  the  spirit  of  her  own  youth.  Infallible  Youth! 
Life  holds  no  more  pitiless  judge. 

In  his  apparent  light-heartedness  she  read  no  need 
of  her,  no  desire  to  make  up  for  the  castaway  years. 
Between  them  was  a  great  gulf  fixed  which  only  a 
real  affection  or  a  real  sympathy  could  cross,  and  in 
Hildred's  nature  was  mingled  a  sufficiency  of  her 
mother's  temperament  to  make  the  crossing  of  such 
frail  bridges  a  difficult  venture. 

Still,  in  spite  of  herself,  she  felt  and  reluctantly 
acknowledged  his  charm,  and  when  he  put  out  a  hand 
to  draw  her  near  she  did  not  resist,  but  went  and  stood 
by  his  side. 

"Wise  child!"  he  said,  with  a  sudden  softening. 


Drifting  249 

"  I  doubt  if  even  the  players  of  the  game  are  justified 
in  giving  an  opinion  on  it. " 

"They  don't  know  much  about  it  either,"  pursued 
Gerda.  "They  only  see  their  own  hands.  For 
instance,  if  mammy's  is  full  of  hearts — "  she  smiled 
across  at  Lady  Nugent,  "what  help  will  that  be  to 
you  if  yours  is  full  of  clubs?  Each  person  has  to  play 
quite  a  different  game,  and  they  've  got  to  play  it 
themselves — just  the  two  of  them — like  Beggar-my- 
neighbour. " 

"Is  the  object  the  same?"  asked  Ivors. 

"Oh,  you  can't  pursue  a  metaphor  to  its  vanishing 
point  like  that!"  retorted  Gerda  airly.  "I  'm  going 
to  write  a  treatise  on  marriage  some  day,  and  I  '11 
get  you  to  polish  my  epigrams  for  me." 

"  I  might  put  too  fine  a  point  on  them. " 

"You  could  n't,  because  my  object  is  to  prod  the — 
shall  I  call  them  victims  or  imbeciles? — into  common- 
sense  once  more."  Gerda  curled  herself  up  on  the 
divan  and  clasped  her  hands  around  her  knees.  "  The 
first  thing  that  marriage  produces  is  a  softening  of 
the  brain  almost  akin  to  idiocy.  It  completely  de- 
stroys all  sense  of  proportion,  and  is  warranted  to 
deaden  the  strongest  sense  of  humour. " 

"Gerda,  my  dear,  don't  talk  such  hopeless  non- 
sense," begged  Lady  Nugent. 

"It's  hopeless  sense  if  you  like,  mammy  dear. 
Look  at  Sylvia,  for  instance.  Before  her  marriage  she 
was  lively,  gay,  full  of  fun,  and  on  for  any  sort  of  lark. 
Now,  behold!  she  is  as  dull  as  ditch-water,  without  a 
thought  beyond  Dick  and  the  baby." 

"Quite  right  and  proper." 

"  Oh,  it 's  not,  mammy.     Dick  and  the  baby  are  all 


250         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

very  well  in  their  way,  but  they  make  a  very  narrow 
boundary." 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Hesper  softly.  "I  think 
Sylvia  is  rather  to  be  envied.  A  man  and  a  boy  of 
her  own !  What  possibilities ! ' ' 

"Now,  don't  you  side  against  me,  Smarlie.  We 
bachelor  women  should  stick  together.  Besides, 
Sylvia  's  drivelling.  She  calls  Dick  Toots,  and  he 
calls  her  Toots!  The  Trent  cousins  are  just  the  same. 
They  call  each  other  Winkums  and  Winkums.  Now 
if  they  called  each  other  Winkums  and  Blinkums, 
or  Toots  and  Boots  one  might  possibly  understand 
it " 

"Lord,  you  are  a  funny  child!"  said  Ivors,  going 
into  peals  of  laughter  at  Gerda's  disgusted  face. 

"Laugh  as  much  as  you  like,  but  all  I  say  is  per- 
fectly true, "  cried  Gerda.  "  Remarks  about  pearls  are 
a  little  obvious,  so  I  '11  refrain.  Here  comes  tea,  thank 
goodness,  in  time  to  prevent  a  split  in  the  camp." 

She  put  her  arm  round  Hesper 's  neck  in  passing. 
"You  would  n't  call  your  husband  Toots  if  you  had 
one,  Smarlie  dear,  would  you?" 

"Certainly  not,"  answered  Miss  Marlowe.  "I 
should  not  dream  of  infringing  Sylvia's  copyright. " 

In  a  moment  Ivors  stood  before  her,  bearing  her 
tea  on  a  little  inlaid  stool  which  he  placed  beside 
her. 

"In  all  my  wanderings,"  he  said,  for  her  ear  alone, 
"I  never  threw  my  dreams  overboard,  no  matter 
how  near  the  vessel  came  to  capsizing. " 

"  Dreams  are  light  things, "  she  answered,  without  a 
glance. 

"Sometimes  they  cost  a  good  deal,  Hesper  Belhas- 


Drifting  251 

ard,"  he  murmured.     "But  how  should  you  know, 
you  white  aloof  star?" 

How  should  she  know  indeed?  She  raised  her  eyes 
to  his,  and  in  them  he  read — more  perhaps  than  she 
was  aware  of.  Danger-signals  loomed  near  at  hand, 
but  as  yet  Ivors  ignored  them. 


CHAPTER  X 

TEMPLES 

SO  the  days  passed. 
With  such  a  party  there  was  infrequent 
opportunity  for  the  dangerous  but  delightful  solitude 
d  deux,  and  the  irrepressible  Gerda  found  outlet  in 
various  devices  for  merrymaking  which  included 
each  individual. 

As  Lady  Nugent  declined  flatly  to  ride  a  donkey 
again,  she  was  left  to  peaceful  somnolence  while  the 
rest  scampered  off  to  see  the  Temple  of  Hathor  at 
Denderah. 

The  way  led  through  rolling  plains  of  green  vetch 
starred  with  tiny  purple  flowers,  and  crested  here  and 
there  with  high  flat  stacks  of  dry  dhurra-stalks. 

A  string  of  camels  came  ambling  towards  them,  led 
by  a  keen-eyed  man  in  a  white  burnouse.  On  the 
foremost,  which  was  decorated  with  woollen  tufts 
and  a  three-cornered  amulet,  sat  a  woman  in  a  loose 
blue  garment  with  a  baby  at  her  breast.  Round  her 
neck  was  a  string  of  gilt  beads  and  her  arms  were 
covered  with  gay  glass  bangles  which  made  a  little 
tinkle  as  she  drew  the  corner  of  her  head-shawl 
forward  to  conceal  her  face  from  the  Englishmen. 

As  they  passed  she  said  something  to  the  man  and 
laughed. 

252 


Temples  253 

"What  was  it?"  asked  Gerda. 

"Something  not  very  complimentary  to  the  English 
ladies  who  go  about  unveiled,"  answered  Ivors. 
"They  consider  all  of  you  mad,  and  most  of  you 
bad,  I  fear." 

"Father!"  cried  Hildred,  shocked  and  hurt. 

"Fact,  my  dear.  Fly  to  the  farthest  wing  of  the 
pendulum  from  your  own  outlook,  and  you  may  grasp 
something  of  their  point  of  view.  Otherwise  the  East 
must  be  as  a  closed  book  to  you. " 

"Your  metaphors  are  as  mixed  as  my  own,  Mr. 
Ivors,"  put  in  Gerda  saucily.  "I  like  the  'Curfew- 
shall-not-ring-to-night '  picture  you  conjure  up  of 
Hildred  clinging  to  the  pendulum!  For  my  part  I 
believe  that  most  men  are  Turks  at  heart,  at  least 
where  their  own  womenkind  are  concerned!" 

"There  is  perhaps  a  grain  of  truth  in  your  chaff," 
retorted  Ivors.  "I  can  understand  the  idea  of  those 
who  would  seclude  their  infinitely  precious.  There  is 
the  temple."  He  pointed  with  his  switch. 

"That  mound?"  cried  Gerda. 

"Yes,  that  mound,  as  you  call  it.  It  is  not  impres- 
sive as  you  approach,  I  admit,  nor  does  its  fascination 
touch  you  until  you  are  quite  close. " 

They  cantered  over  the  sand,  past  the  fallen  half- 
buried  blocks  of  stone,  and  dismounted  beneath  the 
great  gateway,  with  its  deeply  cut  figures  of  gods 
and  goddesses,  and  the  broken  outline  of  its  cream 
cornices  standing  out  against  an  intensely  blue 
sky. 

"Hathor  was  the  Egyptian  Venus,"  said  Ivors 
as  he  lifted  Hesper  off  her  donkey.  "And  all  the 
pillars  are  crowned  with  her  head,  which  some  Goths, 


254         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

who  called  themselves  Christians,  have  mutilated 
horribly." 

The  spirit  of  the  dead  centuries  laid  hold  upon 
Hesper  as  she  entered  the  great  hall.  Its  vast  pillars, 
crowded  together  in  towering  bulk,  seemed  to  shut  out 
the  present  from  the  past,  out  of  which  looked  down 
the  titanic  heads  of  the  Goddess  of  Love,  touched  with 
majesty  despite  their  mutilation;  instinct,  one  could 
fancy,  with  a  calm  pity  for  the  endless  generations  of 
mortals  who  had  had  their  little  day,  crowded  to  do 
her  homage,  and  passed  away  to  give  place  to  yet 
another  race.  In  dignified  procession  they  were 
carved  upon  the  temple  walls,  gods  and  goddesses, 
kings  and  slaves,  in  row  upon  row  of  high  and  low 
relief,  up  to  the  very  roof  which  had  once  been  blue 
and  star-studded  to  represent  the  sky,  but  which  now 
loomed  brown  from  the  torches  of  the  excavators, 
whose  smoke  had  also  dulled  the  topmost  row  of 
figures  to  a  frieze  of  bronze,  in  contrast  with  the  dove- 
colour  of  the  lower  walls. 

Over  the  portal  were  enormous  winged  sun-discs, 
touched  with  soft  blue,  dull  faded  red,  and  deep 
golden  yellow. 

Hesper  wandered  about  the  great  dim  hall,  detached 
from  the  rest,  feeling  the  mystery,  the  sense  of  ancient 
magic  which  hung  like  a  cloud  about  the  time-deserted 
place.  Ivors  watched  her  from  a  little  distance.  The 
mighty  pillars  blotted  out  the  others  from  sight,  but 
a  murmur  of  voices  reached  them  from  where  they 
were  seeking  knowledge  through  the  lips  of  the  Arab 
custodian. 

Always  she  came  back  to  the  portal  with  the  sun- 
discs,  and  stood  looking  upwards  with  a  certain  wist- 


Temples  255 

fulness.  Was  she  looking  for  the  love-colour?  Ivors 
wondered.  Here,  in  the  temple  of  Hathor,  it  should 
surely  be  found,  yet  here,  save  in  its  inner  sense,  it  was 
not. 

He  emerged  from  the  shadows  and  stood  near  her 
for  a  moment  without  speaking. 

"They  all  came  to  pay  her  homage,  you  see,"  he 
said  at  last,  indicating  a  carven  procession.  "King 
and  queen,  god  and  goddess,  Isis  the  calm,  Horus  the 
majestic,  hunter  and  hunted,  worker  and  slave.  Some 
time  or  other  in  their  lives  they  all  passed  through  the 
spiced  dusk  of  her  temple. " 

Hesper  did  not  answer;  no  words  seemed  needed. 
The  sense  of  dream  returned,  even  while  she  was  being 
swept  by  the  impetuous  Gerda  from  chamber  to  cham- 
ber; even  while  with  beating  pulses  she  crept  from  the 
light  of  day  through  a  narrow  crevice,  and  groped  her 
way  down  steep  steps,  vaguely  illumined  by  the  flicker- 
ing candle  of  the  custodian,  to  the  hot  dark  crypt, 
whose  sparse  chambers  were  floored  with  fine  sand,  and 
whose  walls  were  covered  with  the  richest  reliefs  of 
birds,  and  gods,  and  lotuses,  and  kingly  symbols. 

The  stifling  dusk  oppressed,  half -choked  her,  and 
when  a  fluttering,  squeaking  noise  attracted  her  atten- 
tion, and  in  response  to  an  exclamation  the  custodian 
held  his  light  aloft  with  a  laugh,  and  disclosed  hund- 
reds of  disturbed  bats  hitching  themselves  about  the 
rough  ceiling  with  their  wing-hooks,  she  felt  a  deadly 
fear.  Clutching  at  the  nearest  person,  who  hap- 
pened to  be  Sir  George,  she  buried  her  head  on  his 
shoulder. 

"There,  my  dear,  there,"  he  said  kindly,  "don't  be 
frightened.  We  '11  come  out  at  once. " 


256         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

Ivors  stepped  forward.  He  felt  an  unreasoning 
distaste  at  the  contact.  He  held  out  his  hand. 

" Come  with  me, "  he  said  quickly.  "I  '11  take  you 
out  to  the  air.  The  others  can  finish  their  explora- 
tions if  they  don't  mind  bats." 

Hesper  took  the  proffered  hand,  and  they  groped  for 
the  opening  and  stumbled  up  the  narrow  steps  once 
more.  Up  and  up  he  took  her,  through  dim  chambers 
and  empty  corridors,  up  shallow  flights  of  stone  steps 
until,  to  her  vast  relief,  they  came  out  upon  the  temple 
roof. 

"  Sit  down  and  breathe  the  fresh  air  again. " 

He  put  her  gently  on  a  block  of  stone  and  turned 
away  to  let  her  recover  herself. 

The  temple  roof,  which  had  various  levels  reached 
by  rough  flights  of  steps,  was  paved  with  great  square 
blocks  of  buff  stone. 

In  one  corner  stood  a  little  columned  pavilion,  whose 
Hathor-headed  pillars  and  broken  cornice  stood  open 
to  the  sky,  against  whose  intense  blue  they  glowed  like 
beaten  gold.  Sparrows  hopped  and  twittered  in  and 
out,  while,  in  a  deep-cut  falcon-head  of  Horus,  wild 
bees  had  made  their  nest,  round  which  they  hummed 
with  a  homely  persistence. 

The  air,  the  quiet,  and  the  sense  of  the  familiar 
quickly  restored  Hesper's  poise. 

"I  am  sorry  I  was  so  foolish,"  she  began. 

Ivors  turned  quickly  at  the  sound  of  her  voice,  and 
came  and  sat  on  the  steps  at  her  feet. 

"But  you  weren't,  you  were  very  wise,"  he  inter- 
rupted. "This  is  a  thousand  times  better  than  that 
bat-haunted  abomination. " 

"  I  like  that  little  temple, "  she  said,  pointing  to  the 


Temples  257 

pavilion.     "It   has   the  beautiful   sun-disc  over  its 
portal." 

"That  is  the  emblem  of  Re"  the  Sun,  who  was  the 
father  of  Hathor,  Mistress  of  the  Heavens.  It  is  sup- 
posed to  avert  all  evil, "  Ivors  smiled  suddenly.  "  Now 
I  know  that  you  will  love  my  favourite  temple  best. " 

"Why?" 

"Don't  expect  to  learn  all  my  secrets,  Hesper  Bel- 
hasard,"  he  answered,  looking  up  with  the  smile  that 
had  provoked  Hildred  before.  It  irritated  her  now  as 
she  came  up  the  steps  with  the  others.  Could  she 
possibly  be  jealous  of  her  father's  friendship  for  Miss 
Marlowe,  she  wondered.  No,  it  was  not  that.  She 
had  not  a  mean  or  grudging  nature.  She  did  not 
probe  deep  enough  to  realise  that  it  was  the  clanship 
of  sex  stirring  in  her  on  her  mother's  behalf;  that  she 
unconsciously  resented  his  growing  friendship  for 
another  woman.  It  did  not  chime  with  her  sense  of 
the  fitness  of  things.  That  was  all  she  vaguely 
acknowledged,  and  she  wondered,  as  she  kept  up  a 
desultory  conversation  with  Roddy  on  the  homeward 
journey,  as  she  had  often  wondered  before,  how  the 
tangle  of  their  lives  would  unravel  itself. 

As  regarded  her  own  skein,  if  it  knotted,  she  pos- 
sessed a  knife  sharp  enough  to  cut  the  knot,  and  she 
meant  to  use  it  too.  Through  all  the  novelty,  gaiety, 
and  colour  of  this  new  experience  loomed  a  solid  back- 
ground of  the  uses  of  life,  an  unacknowledged  yearning 
for  the  purposeful  quietude  of  England  and  a  sphere  in 
which  one  could  use  heart  and  hands  as  well  as  brain. 
She,  too,  drifted  on  the  stream  of  days,  but  it  was 
pleasant  to  think  of  action,  of  a  niche  and  its  filling 
when  the  lotus  hours  were  over. 
17 


258         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

As  they  turned  and  rode  along  the  broad  bank 
which  skirted  the  Nile  a  flotilla  of  boats  came  towards 
them,  laden  with  the  kuldl,  or  water-jars,  which  are 
manufactured  in  thousands  at  Keneh,  on  the  Arabian 
side  of  the  river.  The  sunlight  fell  slanting  upon 
them,  bringing  them  into  strong  relief,  and  accent- 
uating the  faint  colourings  of  their  cargo — the  packed 
masses  of  jars,  round  ends  outwards,  showing  like 
great  delicately-tinted  eggs,  pink,  grey-green,  and 
reddish-cream.  One  boat  had  a  bright  blue  mast  and 
rudder ;  the  bows  of  another  were  striped  with  dull  red 
and  orange,  and  of  another  with  green  and  white, 
while  in  the  stern  of  one  whose  rudder  was  chequered 
with  faded  red  and  yellow  sat  a  man  in  a  purple  robe 
and  flame-coloured  turban  playing  a  reed-pipe.  As  its 
notes  came  shrilly  across  the  water  a  boy  at  his  feet 
suddenly  struck  up  an  accompaniment  on  a  darabdkkeh, 
beating  its  fish-skin-covered  end  with  lithe  brown 
hands. 

Colour  and  sound  mingled  in  one  curious  harmony, 
typical  of  the  East  which  only  could  have  produced 
such  a  perfect  blending  of  the  suave  and  the  bizarre. 

"I  should  like  to  paint  that,"  said  Ivors  suddenly. 
"All  those  delicate  colours  with  the  two  strong  dashes 
of  purple  and  red.  Just  look  at  the  exquisite  effect  of 
the  reflections  quivering  on  the  water." 

"Very  pretty,"  commented  Gerda. 

He  turned  towards  Hesper;  their  eyes  met,  and  she 
smiled  and  nodded. 

"  Is  n't  there  a  pottery  at  Keneh  where  they  make  all 
those  things?"  Gerda  continued.  "I'd  like  to  go 
over  it." 

Ivors  laughed.     "What 's  your  idea  of  a  pottery? 


Temples  259 

Tall  chimneys,  big  rooms,  furnaces,  the  whole  mechani- 
cal process  neatly  progressing  from  stage  to  stage?" 

"Well,  is  n't  it?" 

"Not  as  represented  at  Keneh.  I  went  there  once. 
The  Arabs  thought  it  was  only  a  mad  English  freak. " 

' '  Why  ?     What  happened  ? ' ' 

"First  we  drove  along  a  pretty  road  shaded  with 
acacias." 

"We?" 

"  I  was  with  some  people.  Then  we  turned  into  the 
town — a  place  of  narrow  streets,  whose  houses  had 
high  Moorish  archways,  painted  in  red  and  cream,  of 
little  squares  giving  one  a  glimpse  of  tattered  bazaars 
full  of  colour — gourds,  tomatoes,  cheap  calico,  and 
sticky  sweetmeats — of  poorer  mud  houses  on  whose 
flat  palm-thatched  roofs  fowls  scratched  and  picked, 
of  a  bare  plain,  dotted  with  ramshackle  shelters  and 
pitted  with  holes  and  mounds.  This  was  the  pottery. 
In  black  hollows  the  furnaces  were  stacked,  beneath 
the  crazy  straw  shelters  sat  the  potters  at  their  wheels, 
turning  the  wet  grey  clay  into  shapes  of  use  and 
beauty  as  they  have  done  from  time  immemorial. 
Here  and  there  amid  the  desolation  were  rubbish-heaps 
where  the  broken  shards  were  flung. " 

"And  was  that  all?"  asked  Gerda. 

"Quite  enough  too.  Isn't  it  enough  to  see  the 
vessel  swell  beneath  the  potter's  fingers  like  the  bulb  of 
a  flower,  thin  out  and  upwards,  and  twist  over  like  a 
petal?  It  's  exquisite.  I  love  to  watch  it.  We  were 
taken  to  see  a  special  expert  who  worked  in  a  dark 
crumbling  little  house  in  the  street.  He  squatted 
before  his  wheel,  pale,  impassive  as  a  Buddha,  mould- 
ing the  clay  to  his  desire.  The  place  was  full  of  Arabs, 


260         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

men  and  children,  who  crowded  upon  us.  Buddha 
made  and  destroyed  shape  after  shape,  still  sitting 
unmoved,  with  the  only  light,  a  shaft  from  the  ceiling, 
full  on  his  inscrutable  face.  At  last  a  smile  flickered 
across  his  features. 

"  'Now  I  will  make  you  something  beautiful!'  he 
said,  and  made — what  do  you  think?  A  common 
vulgarly-shaped  cup  and  saucer!  I  could  almost 
have  wept.  I  expected  something  rare  after  what 
we  had  seen  of  lovely  curve  and  line. " 

"What  it  is  to  have  the  artistic  temperament!" 
mocked  Gerda.  "I  '11  race  you  to  the  landing-stage 
to  work  it  off." 

"I  accept  your  challenge,"  said  Ivors,  and  aided  by 
the  efforts  of  the  blue-girt,  grinning  donkey-boys  the 
two  galloped  off  along  the  highway,  raising  clouds  of 
dust. 

"Let's  all  have  a  gallop,"  suggested  Hesper, 
flicking  her  donkey. 

"You  're  a  great  old  sport,  Smarlie, "  cried  Roddy 
admiringly,  as  he  urged  on  his  steed  with  cries  and 
grunts. 

For  the  first  time  Hesper  felt  a  gulf  of  years.  What 
was  a  matter  of  course  for  the  active  youngsters 
became  cause  for  commendation  in  one  of  her  fuller 
maturity.  It  was  absurd  that  such  a  tiny  trifle  should 
prick,  but  it  did.  Was  her  youth  really  gone?  Must 
she  range  herself  among  the  elders? 

To  hear  departing  footsteps  is  always  sad,  and  no 
woman  can  hear  the  footsteps  of  her  departing  youth 
without  a  pang. 

She  did  not  analyse  the  cause  of  her  regret.     She 


Temples  261 

was  only  conscious  of  it ;  conscious  as  of  something  to 
be  shut  away  in  the  depths  of  her  heart,  while  she 
watched  the  daily  pageant  of  the  river ;  while  she  heard, 
never  without  a  sharp  thrill  of  unaccountable  pleasure, 
the  crude  song  of  the  boatmen  on  the  water,  the  pipe 
of  reed,  or  the  pulsing  beat  of  a  darabukkeh;  or  watched 
the  black  and  white  kingfishers  dart  from  bank  to 
bank  with  sweet  startled  cries,  or  saw  the  red-throated 
swallows  skim  the  surface  of  the  Nile  in  long  sweep 
and  eddy. 

White  dome  and  fretted  minaret  loomed  as  they 
approached  palm-fringed  Luxor,  whose  houses,  pink, 
cream,  and  blue,  with  gay  green  shutters  and  brown 
balconies  gave  hints  of  moving  figures  and  fluttering 
draperies;  while  in  the  narrow  dusty  streets  life, 
kaleidoscopic,  picturesque,  squatted  contemplatively 
in  the  sun  or  moved  leisurely  through  the  shade, 
whether  in  contented  cotton  rags  or  dignified  silken 
robes. 

The  great  brown  lotus-columns  of  the  Temple 
dwarfed  the  modernity  by  its  side,  seeming,  by  its 
timeless  antiquity,  to  cheapen  the  youth  of  the  town 
which  surrounded  it. 

"Letters!  Letters!"  Gerda  cried.  "We  are  to 
get  letters  here. " 

"I  '11  send  Moussa  for  them,"  said  Ivors.  "Let 's 
come  to  the  Temple  before  the  light  turns  red. " 

Impatient  to  land,  Gerda  led  the  way  up  the  tree- 
shaded  street  with  its  little  shops  at  one  side,  and  its 
group  of  insolent-eyed  Arabs  sitting  smoking,  playing 
dominoes  or  tric-trac  outside  the  cafes. 

Somewhat  to  her  surprise  Hesper  found  Hildred  by 
her  side.  She  had  drifted  apart  from  the  girl  of  late. 


262         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

The  companionship  of  the  others  had  absorbed  her, 
and  there  were  no  such  moments  of  confidence  between 
them  as  had  marked  their  parting.  The  older  woman 
felt  a  great  tenderness  towards  the  younger,  and 
a  rush  of  regret  at  the  jarring  note  that  seemed 
occasionally  to  be  struck  between  her  and  her  father. 
At  other  times,  oddly  enough,  the  touch  of  camara- 
derie in  their  intercourse  caused  her  a  swift  pang  of 
loneliness. 

A  tincture  of  suppressed  excitement  in  the  girl's  air, 
an  unsubdued  sparkle  in  her  eyes  drew  Hesper's 
notice.  The  girl's  occasional  glance  over  her  shoulder 
gave  the  clue. 

"Are  you  looking  forward  to  your  post?"  she 
asked. 

"Yes,  aren't  you?    But  how  did  you  know?" 

"Ah,  I  knew,"  answered  Hesper,  with  her  little 
nod.  "I  don't  expect  my  letter,  if  I  get  any,  to  be 
very  exciting. " 

Hildred  flushed.  Even  to  herself  she  did  not  ac- 
knowledge how  much  she  was  looking  forward  to 
hearing  from  Dr.  Lisle.  She  had  taken  him  at  his 
word,  and  tested  him  in  a  matter  of  friendly  service, 
and  she  hoped  that  a  reply  would  reach  her  here. 

"I  have  no  specially  interesting  correspondent," 
Hesper  continued.  "  But  somehow  one  seems  to  have 
no  need  for  letters  here." 

"Surely  this  life  doesn't  content  you,  Smarlie?" 
said  the  girl,  who  had  dropped  into  the  use  of  the 
Nugent's  ugly  nickname.  "Don't  you  want  to  be 
up  and  doing?  I  do." 

"  I  've  been  up  and  doing  for  so  long  that  I  find 
this  land  of  golden  afternoon  quite  sufficient  for  the 


Temples  263 

present.  Perhaps  it  is  old  age  creeping  on;  perhaps 
it  's  only  laziness. " 

"Old  age  indeed!  You'll  have  many  years  of 
waiting  before  you  find  out  what  old  age  is  like!" 
She  gave  Miss  Marlowe's  arm  a  friendly  squeeze,  and 
Hesper  felt  warmed  by  the  sudden  return  to  the  old 
terms. 

"There  's  old  age,"  she  responded,  pointing  to  the 
Temple.  "  I  only  hope  that  mine  will  be  equally  calm 
and  dignified." 

They  had  passed  the  little  riverside  stalls  with  their 
clamorous  vendors  calling  shrill  attention  to  the  glitter 
and  colour  of  their  wares ; — the  red  and  green  pottery, 
tinsel  scarves,  gay  bead  and  shell  ornaments,  and 
antelope-skin  necklaces  threaded  with  beads  of  every 
hue ; — and  reached  the  portals  of  the  Temple. 

Hesper  had  an  impression  of  vast  brown  lotus- 
columns,  of  clustered  papyrus-pillars,  of  sunken  pave- 
ments and  mutilated  colossi,  of  sharp  black  shadows 
cast  by  wall  and  colonnade,  of  rows  of  gigantic 
Rameses  clustered  about  the  foot  of  the  great  pylon, 
which  stood  clear-cut  against  a  luminous  sky. 

A  crazy  mosque  and  squalid  houses  pressed  above 
and  around  the  echoing  emptiness  of  the  Temple. 
Children,  goats,  and  fowls  scrambled  in  a  rubbish  heap 
that  poured  over  a  partly  excavated  corner.  A  boy 
on  a  donkey  ambled  along  a  narrow  pathway,  beating 
a  tambourine  and  singing  a  nasal  love-song  as  he 
went. 

The  light  grew  deeper  and  redder.  On  the  balcony 
of  the  minaret  a  Muezzin  came  forth  to  chant  the  call 
to  prayer. 

Hesper  sat  on  a  tumbled  block  of  granite,  and 


264         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

watched  and  listened.  The  long-drawn  chant,  dying 
and  swelling  as  he  paced  the  creaking  balcony,  woke 
a  memory  of  the  bell  heard  from  the  rock-perched 
monastery  on  the  Portuguese  coast,  the  voice  of  prayer 
which  wove  an  endless  chain  about  a  sleeping  world. 
The  fancy  held  her.  She  listened  until  the  last — 
"  Ld  ildha  illd'lldh!" — had  droned  away  into  silence, 
wrapt  in  content,  remote  from  the  world. 

Through  the  fast-falling  shadows  came  Ivors  with 
the  letters  and  broke  the  illusion. 

"Three  for  Hildred,  two  for  her  ladyship,  none  for 
Miss  Marlowe,  and  one  for  me, "  he  announced. 

He  sat  down  on  the  block  near  Hesper  without 
further  speech.  She  was  always  conscious  of  his 
presence.  It  troubled  her  with  a  sweet  disturbance 
which  she  did  not  understand. 

"My  letters  are  from  school-friends,"  Gerda 
announced.  "They  '11  keep  till  we  get  back." 

Hildred  had  opened  hers  without  comment — a  curt 
communication  from  her  mother,  hoping  that  she  was 
well,  and  announcing  that  Katherine  was  horrified  at 
the  bareness  of  the  hussies  on  the  picture-postcard 
Hildred  had  sent  her,  who  seemed  to  think  that  the 
face  was  the  only  portion  of  the  body  it  was  necessary 
for  them  to  cover.  "Remember  the  morals  of  the 
post-mistress  in  future,"  ended  the  letter  with  an 
unwonted  touch  of  humour,  from  hers  sincerely, 
H.  D.  Ivors. 

Dr.  Lisle's  letter  was  eminently  satisfactory. 

"I  have  done  as  you  requested,"  he  wrote.  "My 
sister  will  send  you  full  particulars."  Then  later, 
"  Miss  Arab  tells  me  that  you  have  a  knack  of  letting 
dreams  out  of  cages.  May  I  suggest  for  the  new 


Temples  265 

accomplishment  that  you  should  learn  how  to  put 
them  back  again?" 

The  girl  drew  a  long  breath  and  smiled.  Egypt 
vanished,  and  once  more  she  feasted  on  wild  fruit  in  a 
wood  beside  a  running  stream;  once  more  she  saw  a 
spare  lazy  figure  with  a  cap  tilted  over  its  eyes;  once 
more  she  heard  a  voice  telling  her  to  wait  until  she 
came  to  the  fork  in  the  road,  and  then  to  be  sure  that 
she  chose  the  right  path — a  voice  which  had  said: 
"  This  is  my  hour.  Don't  shorten  it. " 

She  shut  the  door  quickly  on  that  memory  and 
opened  Arab  Lebarte's  letter,  which  told  her  that  Mrs. 
Ivors  and  "Auntie"  had  had  "words"  on  the  subject 
of  Woman's  Suffrage;  that  the  dahlias  had  been 
ruined  by  an  early  frost  ("though  I  think  I  must 
have  told  you  that  in  my  last!");  that  Dr.  Lisle 
worked  harder  than  ever,  and  that  she  was  going  in 
for  a  new  competition  in  which  a  prize  was  to  be 
given  to  the  person  who  sent  in  the  greatest  number 
of  words  containing  all  the  vowels. 

"  If  you  were  only  here  I  'm  sure  you  could  help  me, 
you  are  so  quick  at  that  sort  of  thing, "  she  ended. 

How  far  away  it  all  appeared!  What  an  aeon 
seemed  to  have  elapsed  since  that  epoch-making 
journey  to  Burnaby!  Truly  this  year  of  her  full  age 
was  the  strangest  and  most  crowded  of  any  she  had 
as  yet  experienced. 

Gerda's  indignation  cut  in  upon  her  musings. 

"Just  come  and  look  at  this!"  she  cried.  "  Here  is 
an  ideal  marriage  according  to  the  ideas  of  the  an- 
cient Egyptians !  Mr.  Ivors,  Smarlie,  you  must  look. " 

She  led  them  excitedly  to  where  a  vast  unmutilated 
Rameses  stood,  calm  and  colossal,  placid  and  inscrut- 


266         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

ably  smiling,  with  a  beautiful  little  figure  of  his  wife,  sig- 
nificantly insignificant,  hidden  away  behind  his  knee. 

"That  just  shows  their  relative  positions,"  she 
exclaimed. 

"Admirably,"  said  Ivors.     "A  perfect  example." 

"Of  what?"  asked  Gerda  suspiciously. 

"  Of  the  ideas  of  the  ancient  Egyptians, "  he  returned 
innocently. 

"Of  course  I  know  men  don't  like  clever  women," 
Gerda  pursued.  "  If  ever  I  contemplate  matrimony  I 
shall  conceal  any  little  brains  I  have  as  carefully  as 
I  possibly  can.  They  always  marry  the  stupid  ones. 
I  wonder  why?  But  they  get  deadly  tired  of  them 
afterwards.  Men  can't  stand  being  bored,  and  variety 
is  the  salt  of  life." 

"Take  care  that  your  husband  won't  be  pickled  ! " 

Gerda  laughed.  "  Oh,  no  he  won't  be.  I  shall  wait 
till  I  find  the  right  man,  and  then  you  '11  see  that  we 
shall  be  an  ideal  couple. " 

"What 's  your  idea  of  an  ideal  couple?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  she  said,  reddening  self-con- 
sciously at  the  hint  of  seriousness. 

"Those  who  fill  each  other's  chinks,"  suggested 
Hesper  softly. 

"And  don't  take  hammer  and  chisel  to  make  the 
gaps  larger,  as  so  many  do,"  exclaimed  Hildred,  her 
tone  tinged  with  bitterness. 

Ivors  looked  at  her.  The  sudden  hardening  of  her 
young  face  was  painfully  reminiscent.  Was  it  his 
hammer  and  chisel  which  had  marked  those  stern 
lines?  He  drew  a  quick  breath. 

"The  bats  are  coming  out.  Look!"  he  said. 
"We'd  better  be  off." 


CHAPTER  XI 

IVORS  FINDS  THE  LOVE-COLOUR 

LADY  NUGENT  watched  what  she  called  "the 
affair"  with  interest,  and  wondered  to  Sir 
George  "if  anything  would  come  of  it?" 

To  which  he  had  responded : 

"You  women  are  all  alike!  If  a  fellow  pays  a 
pretty  woman  the  least  attention  you  at  once  hear 
the  sound  of  wedding-bells !  Ivors  is  n't  a  marrying 
man,  my  dear,  or  he  'd  have  been  caught  long  ago. " 

Lady  Nugent  was  content.  Of  course  like  other 
matrons  she  considered  it  a  pity  that  Miss  Marlowe, 
with  her  looks,  her  money,  and  her  charm,  should 
remain  unmarried;  but  her  winter  was  speeding 
pleasantly,  her  party  was  harmonious,  and  "the 
children"  were  enjoying  themselves,  while  Roddy 
grew  daily  stronger  and  browner.  She  too,  drifted, 
and  saw  no  rocks  ahead,  but,  in  candour,  she  never 
was  aware  of  a  possible  rock  until  she  struck  upon  it. 
Fortunately  her  shallop  had  always  floated  on  easy 
waters  below  whose  surface  the  rocks  lay  deep,  other- 
wise she  had  never  escaped  shipwreck. 

Ivors  never  queried,  mentally  or  verbally,  whether 
his  friends  were  aware  that  his  wife  was  alive  or  not. 
To  him,  his  private  affairs  were  purely  personal  and 

267 


268         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

no  concern  of  any  one  save  himself.  No  circum- 
stances had  hitherto  arisen  to  make  disclosure  impera- 
tive. He  had  trodden  in  pleasant  places  and  avoided 
the  stony  ways,  plucking  only  those  flowers  which 
were  near  at  hand.  He  had  never  cried  for  the  moon. 
Now,  above  the  peaks  shone  a  star,  and  led  by  its 
light,  he  did  not  note  whether  the  path  was  smooth  or 
rough,  or  whither  it  led. 

He  only  knew  that  Hesper's  friendship  and  sym- 
pathy were  passing  sweet ;  that  her  comprehension  of 
his  moods  and  fancies  was  as  delightful  as  it  was 
unusual;  that  he  savoured  daily  a  new  joy,  a  new 
delight. 

He  did  not  monopolise  her  attention,  but  he  was 
always  at  hand  to  do  her  service.  He  did  not  make 
love  to  her  in  words,  but  his  voice  changed  subtly 
when  he  spoke  to  her,  and  her  name,  when  he  uttered 
it  softly,  was  tender  as  a  caress.  He  was  the  best,  the 
gayest  of  good  company.  His  verbal  flights  were  as 
wild  as  Gerda's  own,  his  spirits  as  light  as  Roddy's. 
He  swept  Hildred,  the  appraising  daughter,  into  the 
orbit  of  his  charm  and  woke  something  in  her  heart 
which  loved  him  even  while  it  disapprove^!. 

Hesper  was  conscious  of  the  new  magic,  the  un- 
wonted glamour  of  life  which  seemed  to  her  inex- 
tricably one  with  the  ancient  spell  of  the  Nile.  Her 
teaching  days  had  been  almost  cloistral  as  far  as 
contact  with  men  was  concerned,  and  her  brief 
wander-years  had  brought  her  only  admirers  and 
friends,  in  the  more  superficial  sense,  who  had  come 
and  gone  without  leaving  visible  impress.  No  one 
had  really  knocked,  no  one  to  whom  she  could  ever 
open  the  door  of  her  heart.  Hence  she  was  innocent 


Ivors  Finds  the  Love-Colour     269 

as  a  child  of  the  real  meaning  of  the  golden  haze 
which  enwrapped  her  days,  through  which  she  moved 
content,  detached,  like  a  dream-figure  in  a  dream- 
world, all  unheedful  of  the  fact  that  in  life's  dictionary 
to  dream  means  to  awaken. 

Ivors  worked  fitfully  at  his  pictures.  Sometimes 
he  was  up  in  the  dim  dawn,  painting  with  feverish 
energy  when  he  had  the  world  to  himself.  Once 
Hesper  found  him  there  on  deck  when  she  came  up  to 
watch  the  rising  sun  flood  the  Libyan  hills  with  molten 
rose.  The  hand  with  which  he  clasped  hers  was  icy, 
and  he  shivered  slightly  as  he  stood  up  to  greet  her. 

"You  are  very  cold,"  she  said,  all  her  motherly 
instincts  awakened. 

"Am  I?     I  did  n't  know.     It  does  n't  matter. " 

"But  it  does  matter,"  she  persisted.  "You  ought 
to  take  care  of  yourself. " 

"Ought  I?     Why?" 

"Because — "  she  began,  and  stopped. 

"That  's  a  woman's  reason!  Please  go  away, 
Hesper  Belhasard.  I  hate  being  watched  while  I 
am  at  work."  The  words  were  accompanied  by  a 
smile  that  robbed  them  of  any  sting. 

She  only  thought  how  badly  he  needed  some  one  to 
take  care  of  him  as  she  moved  away  and  knelt  on  the 
divan,  looking  across  the  river  towards  the  flushed, 
towering  hills,  in  which,  beyond  the  amethyst  hollows 
which  marked  the  rock-tombs,  the  peach-coloured 
colonnades  of  the  Temple  of  Deir-el-Bahari  were 
faintly  discernible. 

A  feldkeh  full  of  men  who  rowed,  standing,  came 
down  the  river.  One  sang  a  line  of  wild  love-song, 
which  the  others  repeated  in  rude  unison.  The  dip 


270         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

of  the  oars,  the  barbaric  quality  of  the  music  mingled 
with  the  rush  of  the  river  and  the  querulous  complaint 
of  the  kites  in  the  air  overhead. 

"There  's  so  often  a  touch  of  savagery  mixed  with 
the  beauty,  is  n't  there?  "  said  Ivors  suddenly.  "You 
see  it  definitely  marked  at  Assuan,  and  you  hear  it  in 
the  names  of  some  of  the  places  on  the  Nile-bank. 
K6m  Ombo,  Nag-Hamadi,  Manfalut!  You  can  hear 
the  clash  of  cymbals,  the  blare  of  horns,  the  throb 
of  drums  in  every  syllable.  It 's  only  a  suggestion, 
though,  which  finds  no  real  echo  in  the  pillared  peace 
of  the  one  or  the  superficial  modernity  of  the  others. " 

He  rose  and  stood  beside  her.  He  could  work  no 
more;  her  presence  drew  him. 

"You  feel  it  in  the  valley  which  leads  to  the  Tombs 
of  the  Kings  too,"  she  answered.  "The  burning  red 
rocks  and  shingle,  the  blinding  white  path  with  its 
sharp  black  shadows,  the  blazing  blue  sky,  the  silence, 
and  the  sense  of  awful,  lifeless  desolation  terrified  and 
depressed  me.  There  was  n't  even  a  kite  to  be  seen. 
No  sense  or  sound  of  life,  except  once,  when  a  little 
brown  bird,  which  I  could  have  kissed,  flitted  across 
the  path  and  was  lost  in  an  instant  among  the 
stones. " 

"What  a  sense  of  colour  you  have!"  he  exclaimed. 
"Now  you  understand  why  I  did  n't  go.  I  hate  the 
place.  Was  n't  I  wise?" 

"  That  depends. " 

"Did  you  miss  me  a  little?" 

Hesper  looked  at  him.  Her  eyes  were  very  blue 
in  the  morning  light,  but  she  dropped  them  quickly 
before  his  gaze,  and  a  flush,  faint  reflection  of  the  dawn 
glowed  through  the  whiteness  of  her  skin. 


Ivors  Finds  the  Love-Colour     271 

"What  do  you  think?"  she  asked  softly,  answering 
his  question,  Irish  fashion,  with  another. 

"I  think —  "  he  began,  then  stopped. 

"That's  a  man's  thought,"  she  said,  with  a  little 
smile,  half -mocking,  half-shy.  "Just  as  vague  as  the 
woman's  reason  you  laughed  at  a  moment  ago." 

"It  is  a  man's  thought,"  he  admitted  slowly,  "but 
I  assure  you  it  is  not  in  the  least  vague — Hesper 
Belhasard.  Do  you  want  to  hear  it?" 

The  Eve-spirit  vanished,  giving  place  to  the  Dian- 
spirit  which  would  fain  elude  capture. 

"I  must  postpone  the  pleasure,"  she  said  hastily. 
"Here  comes  Moussa  to  tell  us  that  breakfast  is 
ready." 

She  thought  of  his  words  weeks  later  when  the  first 
glimpse  of  K6m  Ombo  came  in  sight:  four  corniced 
columns  against  a  sky  of  deepest  sapphire,  stand- 
ing out  on  a  little  bluff  some  forty  feet  above  the 
river. 

Before  her  feet  touched  shore  or  trod  its  sunken 
pavements  she  knew  instinctively  that  this  was  Ivors's 
favourite  temple.  She  had  intuitions  about  him,  his 
tastes,  his  distastes;  she  understood  him,  she  felt, 
as  no  one  else  did ;  as  no  one  else  could.  At  last  she 
realised  what  had  befallen  her ;  realised  it  with  a  rush 
of  glorious  shame,  of  golden  confusion.  That  the 
ivory  shrine  was  filled  at  last,  she  scarcely  admitted 
to  herself,  but  she  locked  and  guarded  its  door  lest 
any  should  catch  a  glimpse  of  its  secret. 

She  could  fill  his  chinks,  she  thought,  if — and  the  if, 
large  as  it  loomed,  melted  somewhere  into  when.  She 
saw  his  faults,  his  brief  petulances,  his  occasional 


272         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

selfishnesses,  the  many  accessories  of  the  artistic 
temperament,  but  she  regarded  them  all  with  a  large 
tenderness. 

The  Silent  Spinners  must  have  smiled  at  the  tangle 
they  had  wrought  in  these  human  threads,  for  here  was 
Hesper,  proud  in  her  ripe  womanhood,  the  "branch 
of  Evin's  apple-tree,  with  twigs  of  white  silver  and 
buds  of  crystal  with  blossoms,"  bent  for  the  plucking 
of  one  whose  hands  were  fettered,  whose  freedom  lay 
in  chains. 

The  stately  Temple  crowning  the  crumbling  height 
above  a  wide  shimmering  stretch  of  water  exhaled  an 
ancient  magic  which  merged  into  the  quality  of 
Hesper's  visions.  It  was  not  alone  the  magic  of  sheer 
beauty  which  held  her  heart  in  thrall ;  it  was  something 
subtler,  less  tangible — the  exquisite  moment  of  the 
dream  before  the  awaking ; — a  spell  expressed  in  sculp- 
tured columns,  ruined  but  beautiful,  where  king  and 
god  stood  out  in  delicately  coloured  relief;  in  double 
portals  over  whose  square  entrances  the  sun-discs  of 
Re*  averted  all  evil  with  their  outspread  wings  of  faded 
turquoise  faintly  tipped  with  red ;  in  broken  cornices, 
curving  like  the  crest  of  a  wave;  in  frieze  of  sun- 
crowned  serpents,  cream,  Egyptian-red  and  golden- 
yellow;  in  colonnade  and  architrave  free  to  the  blue 
of  heaven,  in  the  dim  loveliness  of  vanishing  colour, 
the  mere  echo  of  a  pageant  of  past  brilliance. 

The  spirit  of  dead  centuries  seemed  to  brood  over 
court  and  columned  aisle,  which  echoed  no  longer  to 
festal  hymn  or  tread  of  worshipper.  The  warm  sun- 
filled  silence  was  only  broken  by  the  inconsequent 
chatter  of  sparrows,  the  honeyed  hum  of  wild  bees, 


Ivors  Finds  the  Love-Colour     273 

and  the  murmur  of  voices  from  a  knot  of  white-robed 
Arabs  who  squatted  by  the  entrance  gate. 

Hildred  "did"  her  Temples  thoroughly  and  con- 
scientiously, aided  by  Roddy,  who  cared  no  more  for 
the  richly  carved  history  of  the  animal-headed  gods 
and  goddesses  than  she  did.  Gerda  flitted  from  point 
to  point,  punctuating  discoveries  with  little  shrieks 
of  delight,  and  dragging  her  parents  hither  and  thither 
to  share  them  with  her. 

Hesper  wandered  about,  heart  and  soul  responsive 
to  the  lightness  and  delicacy  of  the  ruined  loveliness 
which  surrounded  her — a  joy  enhanced  by  the  pres- 
ence, unobtrusive  yet  understanding,  of  the  one 
person  in  whom  the  light  of  Hesper's  firmament  was 
fast  becoming  concentrated. 

At  last,  as  ever,  the  river  drew  her,  and  she  sat  on 
the  low  parapet  in  the  outer  courtyard,  which  over- 
looks the  Nile.  Behind  her  rose  the  Temple;  around 
her  broken  columns  cast  deep  clean-cut  shadows  on 
the  uneven  pavements,  shadows  which  lay  almost 
purple  upon  the  biscuit-coloured  stones.  Away  to  the 
north  a  shimmering  blue  stretch  of  water  ended  in 
peach-coloured  desert  and  sand-hills,  while  to  the 
southwards  the  river-banks  were  fringed  with  palms. 

Ivors  stood  beside  her,  one  foot  on  the  parapet, 
elbow  on  knee,  chin  on  hand,  gazing  towards  some 
unseen  distance. 

She  looked  at  him,  moved,  sighed,  spoke,  and 
invoked  the  interference  of  the  Fates. 

"  It 's  this  one,  of  course,"  she  said,  in  her  softest, 
most  melting  tones. 

"How  did  you  know?"  He  did  not  need  to  ask 
what  she  meant. 

IS 


274         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

"Ah,  I  knew.     Of  course  I  knew." 

"But  how?"  he  persisted,  still  without  looking  at 
her. 

The  fact  gave  her  courage.  Speech,  which  had 
suddenly  become  difficult,  was  easier  when  his  eyes 
were  not  upon  her. 

"Because — because  of  the  love-colour,"  she  half- 
whispered. 

"Because  of  the  love-colour,"  he  repeated  slowly, 
dully. 

Between  the  instant  of  her  speech  and  his  echo  a 
strange  thing  had  happened.  The  scales  had  fallen 
from  his  eyes  and  he  saw  in  one  illuminating  flash  that 
to  which  he  now  knew  he  had  wilfully  blinded  himself. 
He  loved  her,  he  desired  her,  she  was  the  one  woman 
in  the  world  for  him,  and  he  could  not  tell  her  so.  He 
had  had  other  easier  loves;  into  other  ears  had  he 
poured  foolish  nonsense  (which  he  had  called  by  the 
great  name,  that  elastic  monosyllable  into  which  one 
packs  so  many  and  such  divers  meanings),  but  any- 
thing like  this  irresistible  flood  of  emotion  had  never 
before  touched  him.  The  sudden  rush  of  feeling 
caught,  enveloped  him,  swept  him  off  his  feet,  yet  all 
the  time  he  stood  rigid  beside  her,  his  hands  clasped 
behind  his  back,  struggling,  wrestling  with  the  force  of 
the  sudden  passion  which  had  him  in  its  grip. 

Hesper  looked  dreamily  across  the  hyaline  water. 
She  was  used  to  his  silences,  silences  which  held 
comprehension  rather  than  constraint.  ...  So  still 
were  they  that  a  hoopoe  alighted  among  the  broken 
columns  with  a  flash  of  cinnamon  wings,  and  hopped 
nearer  and  nearer,  spreading  its  fanlike  crest  now  and 
then  in  a  flutter. 


Ivors  Finds  the  Love-Colour      275 

"What  a  pretty  bird!"  she  said. 

Ivors  strove  for  speech.  When  he  found  it  his 
words  seemed  to  himself  hoarse  and  choked,  but  she 
apparently  noticed  nothing.  She  did  not  know ;  she 
must  never  know.  For  him,  his  only  safety  lay  in 
flight,  in  abstention  from  sight  of  that  disturbing 
dearest  face,  over  which  shades  of  emotion  fled  swiftly 
as  cloud-shadows ;  out  of  hearing  of  that  soft  melodi- 
ous voice  which  stirred  the  very  deeps  of  his  heart. 

"The — the  Persians  consider  the  hoopoes  sacred 
birds  as  well  as  lucky,"  he  said.  How  forced  and 
banal  the  trite  guide-book  phrase  sounded! 

"Why?" 

"  Because  they  were  Solomon's  messengers  to  Balkis, 
Queen  of  Sheba. " 

"Were  they?"  The  hoopoe  hopped  nearer  and 
nearer,  perking  its  crested  head.  "  I  wonder  if  he  has 
a  message  for  me?" 

"From  King  Solomon?"  Inwardly  he  thanked 
the  fostered  gift  of  trivial  conversation  which  now 
enabled  him  to  cloak  his  pain  decently  with  light 
words.  He  wondered  dully  at  the  empty  years  he  had 
spent  without  Hesper,  at  the  empty  years  he  would 
have  to  spend  without  her,  and  in  his  heart  he  cursed 
himself  for  not  having  demanded  legal  freedom  from 
his  wife  when  she  had  thrust  bodily  separation  upon 
him.  He  had  not  dreamed  of  the  need  he  should 
feel,  the  desperate,  clutching,  aching  need.  Self  had 
rarely  been  denied,  and  now  the  toll  demanded  was 
heavy  beyond  words. 

"No,  not  from  King  Solomon." 

She  laughed  softly,  and  the  sound  smote  him  like 
a  blow.  How  could  she  laugh  when  he  was  in  tor- 


276         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

ment?  And  yet — and  yet,  he  would  not  have  her 
suffer. 

"A  Persian  friend  told  me  the  legend  in  his  garden 
near  Teheran,"  Ivors  continued.  "We  were  sitting 
by  a  little  brook  which  ran  between  tall  banks  of  white 
irises  and  yellow  narcissi  over  a  bed  of  turquoise-blue 
tiles,  until  it  vanished  in  an  orchard  of  blossoming 
peach,  pear,  and  almond  trees." 

"  Turquoise-blue  tiles, "  she  repeated  in  the  same  low 
coaxing  tones.  "Then  the  Persians  loved  the  love- 
colour  too." 

He  moved  abruptly,  and  thrusting  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  felt  something  there  which  he  had  forgotten. 
The  hoopoe,  startled,  flew  to  the  top  of  a  column. 

"  Perhaps  the  hoopoe  wanted  to  bring  you  a  bit  of 
it, "  he  said  hoarsely,  taking  a  little  flat  parcel  from  his 
pocket.  "He  finds  he  can't  now,  so  it  may  as  well 
seek  refuge  in  old  Nile. "  He  made  a  gesture  as  if  to 
throw  the  little  packet  into  the  water. 

"Stop!"  cried  Hesper,  checking  him.  "What  is 
it?  Why  can't  he?" 

"He — can't,"  repeated  Ivors. 

She  looked  full  at  him,  startled  as  the  bird  had  been, 
touched  with  a  chill  sense  of  fear  at  the  pallor  of  his 
face,  the  brooding  hunger  of  his  eyes.  She  drew  her- 
self up  a  little. 

"  Let  me  see  it, "  she  said  gently.  "  What  is  it  that 
one  cannot  take  from  a  friend?" 

He  felt  a  wild  impulse  to  fall  at  her  feet,  to  worship, 
and  to  remain  kneeling.  Her  fine  pride  had  come  to 
his  rescue.  In  justice  to  her  he  made  an  effort  to  pull 
himself  together. 

"Will  you  take  this,  then,  from — a  friend — Hesper 


Ivors  Finds  the  Love-Colour      277 

Bel — "  his  voice  failed  altogether  at  her  name.  He 
slipped  the  little  box  into  her  hand. 

Instinctively  she  knew  that  all  was  over — that  the 
golden  haze  had  departed  and  left  her  days  glaringly 
bare,  that  she  had  awakened,  shivering,  from  dreams 
to  which  she  had  had  no  right.  What  had  happened 
she  could  not  even  remotely  guess;  she  only  knew 
that  Ivors  had  awakened  too,  and  that  for  some  reason, 
inevitable  as  Fate,  the  vague  half-sensed  joy,  the  rights 
of  her  womanhood  which  she  had  never  claimed,  were 
not  to  be  hers.  He  did  not  want  her.  It  amounted 
baldly  to  that.  And  yet,  and  yet,  the  hunger  in  his 
eyes  told  a  very  different  story.  She  thanked  God 
that  there  had  been  nothing  definite,  as  far  as  tangible 
human  relations  were  concerned,  between  them,  that 
there  was  no  need  for  explanation  or  reproach.  She 
could  not  understand;  she  did  not  even  now  conjec- 
ture ;  she  knew.  That  was  enough,  and  the  fire  of  her 
Celtic  pride  set  alight  a  Brunhild  barrier  between 
them. 

Slowly  she  took  the  white  paper  from  the  little  card- 
board box  with  fingers  which  trembled  slightly  in 
spite  of  herself;  slowly  she  removed  the  cover,  and 
disclosed  a  finely  enamelled  winged  sun-disc,  the 
serpent-crowned  centre  being  represented  by  a  great 
carved  turquoise. 

He  never  took  his  eyes  off  her  face,  the  face  which 
had  whitened  so  suddenly,  so  cruelly.  She  looked  up 
with  a  forced  smile,  but  her  gaze  got  no  farther  than 
his  chin;  she  could  not  meet  his  eyes  again  until  she 
had  had  time  to  recover  her  poise. 

"  It  is  really  beautiful, "  she  said  tonelessly.  "  How 
very  good  of  you  to  think  of  it!" 


278         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

"It's  not  good.  I — wanted — "  Absurd  that  he 
could  not  control  his  voice.  He  cleared  his  throat 
and  began  again: 

"I  had  it  made — some  little  time  ago.  I — I — 
thought  you  might  like  it.  I — I  meant  to  give  it  to 
you  here." 

"Here,  in  your  favourite  Temple?  How — nice  of 
you!"  She  laughed  unexpectedly.  She  felt  cold, 
rigid,  a  woman  of  stone.  She  only  hoped  that  she 
would  be  able  to  retain  coherence  until  this  dreadful 
moment  was  over,  until  she  could  get  away  by  herself 
for  a  little,  even  for  an  hour. 

"You— like  it?" 

"Of  course  I  like  it.  It 's  my  favourite  symbol." 
Oh,  God,  was  she  going  to  faint?  She  swayed  a  little, 
and  steadied  herself  against  the  parapet. 

"Are  you  ill?" 

"111?  No.  The  sun  on  the  water  dazzled  me  a 
little.  That  was  all." 

"You're  sure  it  was  nothing  else?"  he  asked 
miserably. 

"What  else  could  it  be?"  she  said,  with  a  rush  of 
anger  which  sent  the  hot  shamed  blood  to  her  cheeks, 
her  throat,  surging  over  her  whole  body.  Oh,  why 
had  she  not  steeled  herself  all  the  time  against  him  as 
she  had  done  at  first?  Why  had  she  succumbed  to  his 
easy  charm?  She  buttressed  her  outward  pride.  At 
any  rate  he  should  never  know. 

"I  must  show  this  lovely  thing  to  the  others,"  she 
said,  turning  away. 

"Hesper!     Don't,"  he  whispered. 

"  I  forgot  to  thank  you, "  she  said,  over  her  shoulder, 
hastening  towards  escape. 


Ivors  Finds  the  Love-Colour     279 

"Don't,"  he  said  again  huskily. 

His  eyes  followed  her  as  she  moved  across  the  court- 
yard, a  white  gracious  figure,  crushing  his  heart  as 
well  as  his  gift  in  her  two  slim  hands. 

He  railed  inwardly  at  Fate,  himself,  his  wife.  Why 
had  Harriet  deserted  him,  cast  him,  a  man  of  his 
temperament,  adrift  on  the  sea  of  circumstance?  He 
had  always  shirked  the  disagreeable;  here  misery 
gripped  him  and  shook  him  like  a  rat.  His  instinct 
was  all  for  flight.  He  could  not  stand  daily  contact 
with  Hesper;  he  would  inevitably  make  a  fool  of 
himself  and  wrong  her. 

He  must  leave  the  Nitocris;  there  were  many  possi- 
ble doors  of  exit.  Suddenly  the  vision  of  Hildred 
acted  as  a  check.  What  was  he  to  do  with  her?  He 
had  brought  her  out  here  for  the  winter ;  that  was  the 
bond.  He  felt  again  the  gall  of  shackles  of  his  own 
forging.  Then,  with  his  usual  reliance  on  the  will- 
ingness of  others  to  make  his  path  smooth,  he  decided 
that  he  would  leave  her  for  the  present  with  the 
Nugents.  Afterwards — well,  afterwards  could  take 
care  of  itself.  Just  now  his  only  chance  lay  in  instant 
separation. 

He  would  have  yielded  to  a  lesser  passion.  It  was 
the  strength  and  depth  of  this  which  made  him 
momentarily  strong — strong  enough  to  flee  but  not  to 
stay. 

He  remained  on  deck  that  evening  long  after  sunset, 
and  coughed  a  little  as  he  came  in  to  dinner,  white  and 
apologetic,  his  natural  buoyance  quenched. 

Hesper  heard  the  sound  with  a  pang.  Hildred 
looked  up. 

"  I  hope  you  have  n't  caught  cold,  father, "  she  said. 


280         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

"I?     Oh,  no,"  he  returned,  and  coughed  again. 

The  occasion  was  festal;  it  was  Lady  Nugent 's 
birthday.  To  Hesper  and  Ivors  the  dinner  seemed 
endless.  She  barely  sipped  her  champagne ;  he  drank 
an  unusual  amount,  which  had  no  other  effect  than  to 
make  his  eyes  oddly  bright.  At  the  close  of  the  meal 
he  proposed  Lady  Nugent's  health  felicitously.  He 
had  finished  the  pictures  in  time,  after  all,  and  they 
had  been  duly  presented  to  her. 

"Do  you  think,"  he  asked,  with  quite  a  success- 
ful travesty  of  his  old  whimsicality,  "that  you 
could  spare  me  for  a  little  when  we  get  to 
Assuan?" 

"Spare  you?"  echoed  Lady  Nugent,  regretfully. 
"Are  you  thinking  of  deserting  us?" 

"Not  deserting  you,  exactly.  I  have  been  sent  a 
pressing  invitation,  with  a  commission  included,  by 
some  friends  of  mine,  Austrians,  who  live  on  an  island 
near  Assuan.  With  unheard  of  temerity  they  call  the 
place  Geziret-el-Saada — the  Island  of  Happiness. 
They  spend  the  winter  there,  and  they  want  me  to 
do  some  pictures  for  them.  I  don't  quite  like  to 
refuse,  but — "  he  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Of  course  you  must  not  refuse, "  said  Lady  Nugent 
kindly.  "We  must  n't  be  too  grasping.  We  '11  keep 
a  hostage,  though."  She  laid  her  hand  on  Hildred's 
arm. 

Ivors  glanced  across  at  the  girl,  whose  eyes 
were  fixed  on  him.  The  sudden  idea,  hurled  at 
her  without  preparation,  woke  the  old  critical  spirit, 
and  tinged  her  look  with  a  coldness  which  Ivors 
resented. 

"Well,  Hildred,  what  do  you  say  to  Lady  Nugent  ? " 


Ivors  Finds  the  Love-Colour     281 

"Have  I  been  invited  to  the  other  place?"  she 
asked. 

"No." 

"I  thought  I  was  to  spend  the  winter  with  you," 
she  returned,  stung  to  reprisal.  "  But,  as  Lady  Nugent 
is  good  enough  to  want  me  I  would  far  rather  stay 
with  her." 

"  That's  right,  my  dear,"  put  in  Sir  George.  "  Ivors, 
don't  be  jealous." 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  jealous,"  he  returned.  "  I  'm  glad  my 
little  girl  has  found  such  kind  friends. " 

Hesper  heard  of  the  arrangement  with  mixed 
feelings.  A  pang  of  regret,  sharp  and  unavailing, 
pierced  through  a  sense  of  miserable  satisfaction.  It 
was  the  only  thing  to  do,  she  felt.  He  was  the  one 
who  could  flee.  She  was  bound  by  her  former  plans. 
What  had  she  done?  What  had  she  said?  She  won- 
dered dully,  knowing  in  her  inmost  heart  that  she 
had  given  no  cause  for  estrangement.  She  had  only 
made  a  mistake,  she  thought,  as  she  rose  in  response 
to  Lady  Nugent 's  signal.  Many  other  women  had 
done  the  same  and  paid  for  it,  as  she  was  paying 
now.  In  her  bitterness  of  spirit  she  asked  herself 
the  old  question,  why  should  one  seem  to  pay  so  much 
more  heavily  for  a  mistake  than  for  an  actual  sin?  Her 
wearied  mind  could  find  no  answer.  All  she  craved 
was  rest  and  quiet;  she  felt  exhausted,  mentally  and 
physically.  Would  the  evening  never  end  nor  the 
hour  come  when  she  might  once  more  be  alone,  alone 
to  reconstruct  the  shattered  world  which  had  tumbled 
to-day  about  her  ears. 

To-morrow  she  would  be  normal.  It  was  merely  a 
case  of  readjustment.  So  brief  an  emotion  could  not 


282         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

colour  a  whole  life,  she  told  herself,  knowing  in  her 
inmost  heart  she  was  trying  to  deceive  herself  with 
words  which  signified  nothing.  Love  had  come  to  her 
late,  and  she  realised  too  well  that  there  was  nothing 
evanescent  in  his  coming. 


CHAPTER  XII 

11  HE  WHO  IS  NOT  A  FOOL  SOMETIMES  IS  A  FOOL  ALWAYS  " 

THE  Nitocris  drew  near  to  Assuan. 
All  day  long  she  had   sailed  between  hills 
and  golden  sand,  vivid  and  glowing,  whose  high  bluffs 
of  brown  and  purple  stone  were  lightly  powdered 
with  silvery  sand,  blown  upwards  from  the  river. 

Hesper's  pride  had  risen  gallantly  to  the  spur.  She 
talked  and  smiled  as  usual,  avoiding  Ivors  neither 
with  eyes  nor  speech. 

But  he  was  miserably  aware  that  her  glance  swept 
him  coldly,  that  her  inclusion  of  him  was  delicately 
frosted.  He  had  no  right  to  resent.  He  could  not 
claim  the  friendship  which  might  have  meant  so  much 
to  him.  He  would  have  trusted  her,  but  he  dared  not 
trust  himself.  He  was  reaping  now  what  he  had  sown 
in  idleness,  and  the  harvest  was  a  bitter  one.  From 
the  net  of  the  past  there  was  no  escape,  and  he  took 
it  for  granted  that  Hesper  knew  his  circumstances. 
To  have  questioned  her  would  have  indicated  an  un- 
due assumption  on  his  part,  even  if  she  had  permitted 
him  to  approach  near  enough  for  query.  He  took  his 
cue  from  her  and  remained  aloof. 

The  sun  sank  behind  a  bank  of  reddish  cloud  with 
rifts  whose  edges  were  dazzlingly  bright.  When  it  had 

283 


284         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

vanished  the  edges  were  still  golden,  but  the  rifts  were 
filled  with  greenish-blue,  the  colour  that  swam  per- 
sistently before  Hesper's  eyes.  She  touched  the 
brooch — Ivors's  gift — which  she  had  forced  herself  to 
wear. 

"It 's  exactly  the  same  tone,  is  n't  it?"  she  asked, 
smiling  coldly. 

The  smile  and  the  question  hurt  him.  He  had  not 
the  vaguest  idea  of  how  very  much  more  they  hurt  her. 
They  seemed  to  move  on  different  planes  now,  these 
two  who  had  trodden  the  same  path  all  those  magic 
weeks.  They  had  no  common  meeting-ground;  the 
trivialities  they  uttered  could  not  bridge  the  distance 
between  them.  One  broken  phrase,  one  halting 
explanation  would  have  gone  far  towards  healing  the 
numb  ache  in  Hesper's  heart,  and  would  have  turned 
her  from  stone  back  to  warm,  forgiving,  understanding 
womanhood  once  more,  but  Ivors  never  realised  this. 
He  thought  she  knew ;  that  she  was  angry  with  him  for 
loving  her;  that  she  despised  him.  He  did  not  dream 
that  her  attitude  was  one  of  intense  self -contempt, 
that  she  imagined  that  he  had  been  merely  amusing 
himself  with  her,  not  realising  how  far  he  had 
gone  until  he  saw  or  suspected  that  she  cared.  She 
had  not  been  as  easy  a  conquest  as  some  of  the  others, 
she  told  herself  bitterly,  that  was  all;  and  at  least  she 
had  not  pursued  him.  He  should  never  have  the 
satisfaction  of  knowing  that  he  had  hurt  her,  so, 
womanlike,  she  set  about  to  see  if  she  could  hurt  him. 
It  was  a  poor  satisfaction,  after  all,  for  she  only  suc- 
ceeded in  wounding  herself  doubly  with  the  weapons 
she  wielded. 

As  the  sun  vanished,  seeming  to  withdraw  all  colour 


"  He  Who  Is  Not  a  Fool—"      285 

from  the  cloud-bank  until  it  was  a  dim  grey,  he  turned 
to  her  with  a  last  tentative  effort. 

"Won't  you  forgive  me?"  he  asked  hoarsely. 

"Forgive  you?"  she  echoed.     "For  what?" 

He  made  a  helpless  gesture  which  touched  her  in 
spite  of  herself,  but  she  hardened  her  heart  against 
him. 

"There  is  nothing  to  forgive.  How  could  there 
be?"  She  lifted  scornful  eyebrows.  Her  words 
seemed  to  transport  him  to  a  still  farther  plane. 

"Sorry,"  he  said  abruptly.  "I  made  a  mistake. 
I  thought  you  were — a  woman.  I  forgot  for  the 
moment  that  you  were  a  fixed  star,  shining  remotely 
above  petty  humanity." 

His  words  stung,  and  her  sense  of  justice  rebelled 
against  them.  How  dared  he,  the  aggressor,  try  to 
put  her  in  the  wrong? 

"No,  "she  said.     "No." 

"What  then?" 

"Oh,  I  am  a  woman,"  she  cried  straight  from  the 
depths  of  her  sore  heart. 

He  started  and  bent  towards  her,  melted  by  her 
tone. 

"You  are.     The  dearest — "  he  began. 

In  a  moment  the  miserable  story  would  have  been 
out,  the  faulty  confession  of  poor  humanity  would 
have  been  made,  and  Hesper,  out  of  the  strength  and 
purity  of  her  love,  would  have  helped  and  healed  him, 
would  have  given  of  her  best  to  strengthen  his  weak- 
ness, would  have  striven  to  aid  him  to  lift  his  tattered 
ideals  out  of  the  mire,  and  so  doing,  would  have  found 
double  joys  of  knowledge  and  service;  for  sweeter 
even  than  the  knowledge  of  the  man's  love  to  the 


286         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

woman  is  the  sense  that  she  is  able  to  help  him  in  the 
greater  things  of  life  if  not  in  the  lesser. 

But  it  was  not  to  be.  Through  the  fast-falling  dusk 
came  Gerda  and  Hildred  to  point  out  the  nearing 
Assuan,  and  the  moment  had  passed  for  ever  into  the 
grey  valley  where  lie  the  days  that  were,  and  the 
lost  moments  of  life. 

Afterwards  Ivors  would  have  given  all  he  held  dear 
if  he  could,  like  the  King  of  Averon,  have  gone  down 
on  his  knees  and  searched  among  "the  dusty  heap  of 
forgotten  days"  to  find  his  yesterday  and  "certain 
hours  that  were  gone."  He  would  have  invoked  the 
Harper  with  the  golden  Harp  to  whose  strings  clung 
"  some  seconds  out  of  the  lost  hours  and  little  happen- 
ings of  the  days  that  were" ;  but  in  vain,  for  opportun- 
ity, if  unseized  in  the  instant  of  passing,  is  irrecoverable 
as  yesterday  and  unattainable  as  to-morrow. 

The  sky  was  deep  blue  and  star-filled,  and  the  town 
of  Assuan  a  semicircle  of  twinkling  lights  below  it. 
They  glimmered  on  the  palm-fringed  Elephantine 
Island  like  stray  fireflies ;  and  shone  on  the  steamers 
and  dahabiehs  in  orange  clusters,  casting  quivering 
reflections  in  the  water. 

"There's  Assuan!"  cried  Gerda. 

"Yes,"  answered  Ivors,  adding  under  his  breath, 
"thank  God!" 

"We  shan't  lose  sight  of  you  altogether,  Mr.  Ivors? 
You  '11  come  back  to  us  again,  won't  you?" 

"  If  the  Fates  permit. " 

"  Can't  you  coax  them  a  little?  They  're  only 
women,  after  all." 

"There  's  nothing  in  the  world  more  adamantine 
than  a  woman,  or  more  incomprehensible." 


"  He  Who  Is  Not  a  Fool—"      287 

"Come,  now!" 

"Proteus,  who  was  supposed  by  some  to  have  been 
King  of  Egypt,  was  a  woman  really, "  Ivors  continued. 
"Nothing  else  could  have  changed  so  quickly.  His 
favourite  metamorphosis  was  being  a  man,  of  course, 
for  he  was  afraid  that  if  he  assumed  his  true  shape 
the  other  goddesses  might  kill  him!" 

"I  thought  they  were  all  supposed  to  be  im- 
mortal  " 

"Which  things  are  an  allegory, "  said  Ivors,  looking, 
unrestrainedly  now,  thanks  to  the  blue  dusk,  at  the 
profile  beside  him,  the  soft  masses  of  hair,  the  clear- 
cut  outline  of  cheek  and  chin  supported  by  one  slim 
hand.  The  other  hung  by  her  side  and  tempted  him. 
Unseen  he  seized  it  in  his  own  and  pressed  it  passion- 
ately. At  the  contact  the  fire  which  ran  through  the 
veins  of  both  met  and  mingled.  Hesper  did  not  dare 
to  make  any  violent  movement  lest  it  should  draw 
upon  her  the  scrutiny  of  sharp  young  eyes,  and  Ivors 
knew,  and,  unpardonably,  counted  on  this.  Then  as 
suddenly  as  he  had  taken  her  hand  he  released  it, 
with  a  sigh. 

Hesper  turned  and  walked  away,  despising  herself 
for  the  mad  joy  that  the  moment's  contact  had  roused 
in  her. 

Ivors  put  his  hand  unsteadily  on  Hildred's  shoulder. 

"You  don't  really  want  me,  little  girl,  do  you?" 
he  asked. 

She  looked  up  at  him,  trying  to  see  whether  the 
question  held  appeal  or  assertion. 

"Of  course  not,"  she  answered.  "I  shall  be  very 
happy  here." 

"I  hope  you  will,"  he  said,  with  a  sudden  and 


288         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

apparently  unnecessary  emphasis.  "Lord!  I  hope 
you  will." 

That  evening,  in  spite  of  all,  the  strain  was  lightened 
for  the  only  two  who  had  felt  it. 

Hesper  played  her  emotions  through  nocturne  and 
caprice  into  the  Pilger-Chor,  and  Ivors  sang  some  of  his 
unavailing  passion  into  lyric  and  love-song.  In  an 
odd  contradictory  way  these  two  illogical  beings 
tasted  happiness  in  those  last  fast-fleeting  hours;  for 
Ivors  knew  that  he  had  touched  a  woman,  not  a  star, 
and  Hesper's  heart  pulsed  quicker  with  an  absurd 
delight  that  he  had  called  her  "dearest. " 

Whether  Ivors  tried  to  wheedle  the  Fates  or  not  the 
fact  remains  that  Assuan  did  not  see  him  again  that 
winter,  save  for  a  fleeting  visit  to  the  Nitocris  before 
catching  a  train  which  was  to  take  him  back  to 
Luxor. 

He  found  no  one  on  board  but  Lady  Nugent,  who 
begged  him  to  leave  Hildred  with  them  until  the 
Nitocris  returned  to  Luxor. 

"They  are  having  such  a  lovely  time,"  she  said. 
"Dances,  tennis,  camel-rides,  desert  picnics,  all  sorts 
of  fun.  We  have  met  several  old  friends  and  have 
made  many  new  ones.  It  would  be  a  thousand  pities 
to  take  her  away,  and  my  young  people  would  be 
lost  without  her. " 

"I  will  gladly  leave  her  for  the  present,  as  you 
are  good  enough  to  want  her,  but  you  must  n't  let  her 
outstay  her  welcome. " 

"There  is  no  fear  of  that,"  beamed  Lady  Nugent. 

"She  is  greatly  sought  after.  Indeed,  all  my  girls 
are,  for  I  may  include  Miss  Marlowe  too."  She 
paused.  She  was  not  pleased  with  Ivors  for  having, 


"  He  Who  Is  Not  a  Fool—"       289 

as  she  thought,  neglected  the  chance  thrown  in  his 
path.  She  felt  that  she  would  like  to  show  him 
what  he  had  lost.  "Miss  Marlowe  is  tremendously 
admired." 

"Naturally." 

"Her  type — so  unusual,  you  know." 

Ivors  knew. 

"There  are  crowds,  of  course,  but  one  in  particular ! " 

Ivors  had  been  waiting  for  this. 

"A  German  Count — Graf  von  Biilitz — very  rich, 
charming,  a  castle  on  the  Rhine " 

"Take  care  that  it's  not  a  castle  in  Spain,"  said 
Ivors,  inwardly  consigning  Germany  in  general  and 
Graf  von  Biilitz  in  particular  to  fiercest  flames. 

"Oh,  no.  He  's  well  accredited,  and  so  handsome. 
Dances  divinely,  I  believe." 

Ivors  thought  of  that  night  at  Minieh  when  he  had 
danced  into  love  with  Hesper,  and  felt  the  stored 
jealousy  of  hot  unreasoning  youth  surge  within  him. 
He  rose  to  go. 

"Please  convey  my  congratulations  to  her,"  he 
said. 

"Oh,  nothing  's  settled  at  all.     It 's  only " 

"Oh,  it 's  only — is  it?"  said  Ivors,  relieved. 

As  he  went  up  the  bank  towards  the  palm-shaded 
railway-station,  dispersing  wild-haired  Bisharin  and 
vociferous  sellers  of  bead-chains  and  mock  antiquities 
with  a  few  well-chosen  Arabic  phrases,  he  pondered 
long  and  earnestly  upon  the  fable  of  the  dog  in  the 

manger. 
19 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  TOLL 

"Dahabieh  Nitocris,  Assuan. 
"  I  WANT  to  come  back  to  you.     Please  write  to 

1     Lady  Nugent  and  demand  me. " 

Such  was  the  gist  of  a  letter  from  Hildred  which 
Ivors  received  late  in  February.  It  roused  an  un- 
wonted sensation,  and  soothed,  in  a  measure,  the  aching 
sense  of  need,  of  loss  which  he  had  felt  ever  since  he 
left  Hesper.  She  had  put  to  flight  his  old  preconceived 
ideas  of  the  eternal  feminine ;  she  had  aroused  within 
him  a  perception  of  the  ideal,  unlike  the  butterfly  ca- 
prices which  in  other  women  had  attracted  and  amused 
him.  He  had,  in  his  easy,  selfish  way,  demanded 
nothing  of  life  save  his  art  and  his  amusement.  A 
certain  selective  fastidiousness  had  always  supplied 
the  demand.  He  had  flitted  on,  oblivious  of  duty  or 
responsibility,  unaware  of  the  vast  net  which  sur- 
rounded him  and  which  would  one  day  imprison  him 
when  he  really  wanted  to  try  his  wings.  Of  the 
higher  beauties  of  self-sacrifice,  of  self-denial,  he  knew 
nothing.  His  art,  his  sense  of  the  beautiful,  asserted 
claims,  but  there  was  no  unselfishness  in  satisfying 
these;  and  the  divine  discontent  which  is  the  spur 
to  every  artist  alone  saved  him  from  sinking  into 

290 


The  Toll  291 

the  slough  of  complacency.  He  was  one  of  Nature's 
spoilt  children,  and  the  secret  of  his  retention  of  youth 
was  his  constant  demand  "  I  want.  I  want.  I  want." 
Until  now  he  had  always  received.  Of  course  there 
had  been  a  void,  but  he  had  accepted  that  as  incidental 
to  his  temperament  until  Hesper  came.  By  the  won- 
der and  generosity  of  its  filling  he  had  suddenly 
realised  the  immensity  of  the  vacuum,  and  almost 
coincident  with  the  recognition  had  come  its  with- 
drawal. It  was  as  if  a  "magic  casement"  had  been 
opened  for  a  moment,  and  then  not  only  closed,  but 
barred  and  shuttered  in  his  face. 

He  felt  an  unwonted  eagerness  to  see  Hildred  again, 
a  swift  desire  for  his  own  flesh  and  blood.  What  had 
he  not  wilfully  missed  all  these  years?  He  must  try 
to  make  it  up  to  the  child  now  if  she  would  let  him. 
The  possibility  of  doubt  peeped  at  him  out  of  her 
mother's  grey  eyes,  but  with  his  usual  impetuosity, 
his  usual  certainty  that  things  must  go  as  he  desired 
them,  he  swept  the  idea  away.  This  new  revelation 
of  his  failure  in  duty,  this  awakening  to  a  sense  of 
responsibility,  had  come  late,  but  it  had  come,  and 
this  was  indirectly  due  to  Hesper.  All  these  long 
miserably  empty  weeks,  which  he  had  tried  to  fill 
with  the  husks  which  once  had  satisfied  him,  had 
been  productive  of  thought  if  nothing  else.  He 
had  striven  to  quell  the  passion  which  consumed 
him  like  a  flame,  and  found  that  a  certain  amount 
of  strength  had  come  with  the  effort,  a  strength 
which  he  did  not  dare  to  put  to  the  test  of  seeing 
her  again. 

Hildred  found  him  looking  thinner  and  older  when 
they  met.  She  herself  radiated  health  and  self-con- 


292         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

fidence,  and  with  a  sense  of  apprehension  Ivors  read 
purpose  in  her  every  movement. 

"It  is  nice  to  see  you  again,  little  girl,"  he  said, 
tucking  his  hand  through  her  arm.  "You've  im- 
proved too,  or  is  it  a  case  of  absence  making  the  heart 
grow  fonder?" 

Hildred  laughed.  "Perhaps  a  little  of  both,"  she 
returned.  "Roddy  was  always  telling  me  that  I  had 
grown  fat,  but  I  don't  think  that  's  possible  with  all 
the  exercise  I  took." 

"Let 's  sit  down,"  he  said,  "and  tell  me  all  about 
everything.  This  is  my  special  corner." 

He  led  her  across  the  lounge  of  the  hotel  to  a  nook 
containing  two  luxurious  chairs,  sheltered  by  a  mush- 
rabiyeh  screen,  and  a  tall  palm  which  gave  some  sense 
of  seclusion. 

"  Let 's  see,"  he  began.  "You  are  a  famous  tennis- 
player,  aren't  you?" 

"A  champion,"  she  laughed.  "And  I  won  the 
camel  race  at  the  last  gymkhana,  and  first  prize  at 
the  Fancy  Dress  Ball." 

"  How  could  you  tear  yourself  from  these  delights?  " 

"  I  got  suddenly  tired  of  it. "  She  grew  rather  red, 
and  pulled  at  a  leaf  of  the  palm. 

"Hum,"  said  her  father.  "Was  there  a  masculine 
reason,  by  any  chance?" 

Hildred  sat  up  suddenly.  "How  did  you  know? 
Who  told  you?" 

"No  one.  A  simple  process  of  deduction.  It 
does  n't  take  acute  perceptive  power  to  guess  the 
reasons  which  would  induce  flight  at  the  zenith  of  a 
successful  season.  They  dwindle  rapidly  to  two — 
a  quarrel  or  a  love-affair.  I  did  not  think  that  you 


The  Toll  293 

would  quarrel  with  our  excellent  friends,  so  voild!" 
He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  Hildred  felt  unreason- 
ably annoyed. 

"There  was  a  man, "  she  admitted,  "who  could  not 
be  taught  the  meaning  of  the  word  no. " 

"Some  men  are  slow  learners.  Was  he — im- 
possible?" 

"For  me,  yes.  I  don't  want  to  marry,"  she  said 
suddenly.  "I  have  no  place  for  that  sort  of  thing  in 
my  life." 

"Ah,  going  to  play  King  Canute,  are  you?  A 
difficult  r61e,  and  one  in  which  you  will  probably  be 
quite  as  successful  as  he  was!" 

The  light  mockery  of  the  tone  stung  Hildred,  and 
made  her  feel  young  and  insignificant.  After  all,  she 
was  nearly  twenty-one.  The  moulding  of  her  own 
life  had  been  thrust  on  her;  she  was  not  going  to  let 
any  one  interfere  now.  She  turned  his  words  against 
himself. 

"Why  did  you  flee  from  the  Nitocris?"  she  asked 
unexpectedly. 

He  looked  at  her  for  a  moment  with  an  odd  impulse 
towards  confidence,  hesitant  lest  she  should  misunder- 
stand. Then  he  followed  her  train  of  reasoning  to  a 
different  conclusion. 

"  I  was  afraid  of  being  drowned, "  he  answered,  with 
deliberate  lightness.  "I  found  that  I  had  assumed 
the  Canute-r61e  unawares,  and  that  if  I  sat  much 
longer  I  should  have  got  very  wet  indeed. " 

"You  mean — ?"  she  asked,  only  half  under- 
standing. 

"I  mean,"  he  said  quietly,  "that  I  found  that  Miss 
Marlowe's  friendship  was  becoming  too  dangerous  for 


294         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

me,  so  I  sought  safety  in  flight.  That  's  all.  Don't 
comment. " 

"  I  had  no  intention  of  doing  so. " 

It  was  a  strange  confession  for  a  father  to  make  to  a 
daughter,  and  it  half  drew,  half  repelled  her.  She 
saw  in  a  flash  the  pitfalls  which  her  mother  had 
avoided  while  leaving  him  to  skirt  them  or  fall  in  as 
best  he  might.  The  gulf  of  temperament  loomed  be- 
fore her,  made  doubly  dangerous  by  the  infinite  com- 
plexities of  human  nature.  For  a  moment  she  felt 
that  she  hated  life  with  its  tangling  threads,  that  she 
hated  men,  that  she  hated  women,  that  she  hated  all 
the  artificial  complications  which  hemmed  her  in ;  that 
she,  too,  longed  for  flight. 

"It  is  better  to  fill  one's  life  with  work  and  avoid 
these  possibilities,"  she  said,  after  a  pause. 

"Ah,  there  's  the  crux.     If  you  can. " 

"I  mean  to  try." 

"You?" 

"Yes.  That  was  what  I  wanted  to  come  and  talk 
to  you  about. " 

Ivors  felt  jarred,  chilled.  "Surely  we  have  not 
come  to  the  parting  of  the  ways  yet." 

"  In  a  sense  I  think  we  have. " 

"But  I  've  seen  so  little  of  you!" 

"Whose  fault  was  that?" 

"Horribly  right,  as  usual." 

"I  won't  talk  about  it  now,  if  you'd  rather  not." 

"After  all,  what 's  the  good  of  postponement?  We 
may  as  well  have  it  out  now,  and  forget  it  afterwards. " 

Yes,  that  was  his  attitude  towards  life,  Hildred 
thought,  to  forget  the  unpleasant  as  soon  as  possible, 
where  actual  avoidance  was  out  of  the  question. 


The  Toll  295 

"You  remember  that  the  agreement  was  that  at 
the  end  of  the  year  I  was  to  have  a  choice." 

Ivors  nodded. 

"There  were  three  alternatives.  I  might  live 
with  mother,  with  you,  or  choose  my  own  career," 
Hildred  continued,  selecting  her  words  carefully. 

"And  you  Ve  chosen,"  said  Ivors,  rising  suddenly. 
"No  need  to  tell  me.  I  know  which.  The  eternal 
ego!" 

"That 's  not  fair,  father, "  cried  Hildred. 

"No,  it's  not,"  he  said,  sitting  down  again.  "I, 
in  my  thinnest  of  glass  houses,  have  no  right  to  cast 
that  particular  stone.  Tell  me  more. " 

"  My  mother  does  not  want  me.     You  do  not  need 

» 

"Are  you  so  sure  of  that?" 

Her  eyes  were  blind  to  the  appeal  in  his.  They 
strained  towards  some  distant  desired  goal.  "Oh, 
you  don't  really  want  me.  I  am  in  no  way  neces- 
sary to  you.  We  need  n't  quibble  about  words. 
I  want " 

"Yes,  I  see  that." 

"Father,  why  will  you  interrupt  and  misjudge?" 
she  cried  impatiently.  "I  have  a  right  to  a  hearing, 
at  any  rate." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  my  dear,"  he  returned  gently, 
watching  the  disappearance  of  a  scarcely  acknow- 
ledged hope.  "Go  on.  I  won't  interrupt  again,  I 
promise  you." 

"You  have  your  art,  your  friends,  your  life,  in  which 
I  have  no  place.  I  want  the  same  for  myself.  I 
mean  independence,  the  chance  of  doing  the  things 
my  heart  is  set  on." 


296         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

"  You  have  your  art,  your  friends,  your  life,  in  which 
I  have  no  place. " 

The  words  leaped  from  the  past  like  a  flash  of  light- 
ning. The  tone  was  young,  eager,  impulsive,  instead 
of  being  tinged  bitterly  with  hatred. 

That  was  the  only  difference.  This  was  the  toll 
that  the  years  demanded  of  him.  The  careless  days 
which  had  slipped  through  his  fingers  like  grains  of 
sand  now  loomed  almost  mountainous.  The  past 
can  never  die;  its  debtor  always  has  to  pay.  Ivors 
could  not  now  demand  that  which  he  had  wilfully, 
deliberately  cast  aside.  The  grey  eyes  of  his  daughter, 
alight  with  enthusiasm  as  they  were,  accused  him 
like  conscience.  He  leaned  his  elbow  on  the  chair, 
and,  shading  his  eyes  with  his  hand,  sat  and 
listened. 

Hildred's  words  tumbled  out  unchecked.  Her  face 
was  glowing,  vivid,  as  with  the  splendid  selfishness  of 
youth  she  poured  forth  her  plans,  desires,  and  aims. 
It  appeared  that  she  had  long  desired  to  be  a  hospital 
nurse,  and  that,  thanks  to  Dr.  Lisle,  the  very  post  she 
would  have  wished  for  now  awaited  her.  His  sister, 
who  was  matron  of  a  Children's  Hospital  in  Surrey, 
would  be  delighted  to  have  her  as  probationer.  She 
wanted  her  to  come  in  March,  and  that  was  why — 
and  so  on,  round  the  circle  again.  She  was  so  tired  of 
doing  nothing;  she  wanted  to  be  of  some  use  in  the 
world;  she  wanted  a  life,  a  place  of  her  own. 

"Who  is  this  Dr.  Lisle?" 

"  He  is  doctor  at  Burnaby.  He  is  considered  very 
clever.  My  mother  knows  him." 

"Doubtless  he  has  all  the  virtues,"  said  her  father 
drily.  "  Does  he  understand  the  value  and  meaning 


The  Toll  297 

of  the  simple  negative,  or  is  that  an  art  which  he  has 
yet  to  learn?" 

Hildred's  cheeks  burned,  and  the  thought  of  the  art 
which  Dr.  Lisle  professed  to  practise  rose  to  her  mind, 
and  unreasonably  sharpened  her  tongue. 

"Why  do  you  always  laugh  at  things?"  she  de- 
manded hotly.  "I  suppose  you  disapprove." 

"Is  n't  it  better  to  laugh  than  to  cry?"  he  said  with 
his  whimsical  smile.  "I  hate  your  whiner.  And  as 
for  disapproving,  on  the  contrary,  my  dear,  I  think, 
that  you  have  chosen — wisely.  I  quite  acknowledge 
that  neither  your  mother  nor  I  have  the  slightest 
right  to  control  your  actions;  we  forfeited  that  long 
ago.  I  only  realise  it  now.  You  have  a  great  deal 
to  forgive,  Hildred,  and  I,  for  one,  am  sorry." 

The  girl  was  touched,  melted.  Her  heart  wanned 
to  her  father  as  it  had  never  done  before.  She 
stretched  out  her  hand  impulsively. 

"  If  you  ask  me  I  '11  stay, "  she  cried. 

He  shook  his  head.     How  could  he  ask  her  now? 

"I'll  only  ask  one  thing,  little  girl,"  he  returned, 
"and  that  is  that  you  '11  come  to  me  if  ever  I  am  in 
real  need  of  you. " 

"I  will.     Indeed  I  will,"  she  answered. 

"That  's  a  bargain,  then,"  said  Ivors,  rising. 
"We  '11  go  down  to  Cairo  to-morrow,  and  enjoy 
ourselves  until  it  is  time  for  you  to  depart." 


PART  III 
THE  LOVERS 


299 


CHAPTER  I 
"THERE  is  NO  ARMOUR  AGAINST  FATE" 

IVORS  drifted  about  the  world  like  a  blown  leaf, 
1  seeking  peace  and  finding  none.  The  moment 
that  he  rested  quiescent  in  some  half-forgotten 
corner  a  gust  of  impatient  longing  would  seize, 
rend,  and  drive  him  forth  again  on  his  fruitless 
quest.  He  lost  all  joy  in  his  art;  the  zest  of  living 
was  quenched  for  him;  he  wandered  from  one  sun- 
filled  nook  to  another,  and  saw  neither  the  sunshine 
nor  the  flowers.  Once  or  twice  he  caught  a  glimpse 
of  himself  as  he  was,  and  the  sight  shook  him — 
a  hollow-cheeked  man,  wasted  by  the  flame  of  passion 
which  consumed  him.  He  had  never  experienced 
such  a  devastating  influence  before,  nor  one  in  which 
the  base  and  the  good  were  so  inextricably  mixed. 
At  times  he  felt  that  he  could  easily  revert  to  the 
ancestral  beast;  at  others  he  felt  that  he  could  soar 
to  the  potential  angel  which  is  in  man.  He  did 
neither,  mentally  nor  physically.  He  trod  a  uniform 
plane  of  dulness  which  had  nothing  in  it  to  arrest,  to 
grip.  He  walked  a  grey  world  which  was  only  lit  by 
the  fire  of  despair. 

At  last  Fate,  Chance,  Destiny — what  you  will — led 
him  to  the  Island  of  Capri. 

301 


302         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

The  day  was  blue  and  sparkling  and  the  scent  of 
flowers  filled  the  air. 

After  luncheon  the  padrona  of  the  vine-wreathed 
albergo  advised  him  to  go  into  the  garden :  "  The  view 
of  the  bay  and  the  distant  Napoli  was  superb,  but 
superb  in  truth." 

Ivors  went  through  the  open  door,  out  under  a 
pergola  of  roses  whose  summer  incense  was  one  with 
the  day  and  the  hour,  down  the  grey  stone  steps  of 
little  terraces  over  which  tumbled  torrents  of  pink 
geraniums  and  warm-scented  carnations,  until  he 
came  to  the  last  of  all,  beneath  which  an  orange-grove 
and  a  peach-orchard  dipped  suddenly  to  the  dancing 
sapphire  of  the  sea.  The  broad  leaves  and  green 
clusters  of  a  vine  drooped  over  a  little  arbour  at  one 
end,  in  which  moved  a  glimmer  of  white. 

Ivors  walked  towards  it  unseeing,  not  realising  that 
it  was  tenanted  until  he  came  face  to  face  with  its 
occupant. 

She  looked  up  at  his  approach  and  their  eyes  met. 
He  whitened  as  if  under  a  great  shock. 

"  My  God ! "  he  whispered  below  his  breath.  "  Hes- 
per !  Hesper  B  elhasard ! ' ' 

Hesper  sat  speechless,  incapable  of  word  or  motion, 
but  her  eyes  answered  him,  drew  him.  He  stumbled 
forward,  like  one  who  is  blinded  by  a  sudden  light, 
half -fell,  half -knelt  at  her  feet,  and  putting  his  arms 
about  her  hid  his  face  against  her  breast. 

Time  ceased  to  exist ;  the  world  was  emptied  of  all 
humanity  save  the  two  only,  who  clung  to  each  other 
long  and  desperately,  as  if  to  assure  themselves  by 
the  mere  sense  of  touch  that  the  beloved  one  was 
really  within  grasp  after  these  empty  aeons. 


" No  Armour  Against  Fate"      303 

At  last  Ivors  moved,  and  putting  up  his  hands  drew 
Hesper's  face  towards  his  own.  They  kissed. 

"  Now  you  are  mine, "  he  said  in  a  whisper.  "  Now 
you  are  mine.  How  I  have  wanted  you!" 

The  time  for  query  or  comment  was  not  yet.  The 
golden  moment  was  to  be  rounded  to  completeness 
before  the  intrusion  of  the  actual. 

After  murmurs  and  broken  phrases  came  the  un- 
surpassed eloquence  of  the  three  magic  words,  "  I  love 
you,"  which  vary  so  wondrously  with  each  repetition. 
With  the  oft-rung  changes  the  sense  of  possession 
came  to  Ivors. 

"I  '11  never  let  you  go  again,"  he  murmured,  tight- 
ening his  clasp. 

"No,"  she  breathed  in  soft  ecstasy.     "No." 

"  You  have  a  lot  to  make  up  for,  Hesper  Belhasard. " 
He  touched  at  last  the  tendril  of  hair  unrebuked. 

"I  know.     I  know." 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"  I  know  that  you  have  led  a  lonely  and  unsatisfied 
life  since " 

"Since?" 

"Since — she  died,"  answered  Hesper  softly. 

Ivors's  clasp  slackened.     "Since  who  died?" 

"Your  wife." 

He  drew  away.  The  golden  moment  was  shattered. 
For  a  brief  space  he  had  absolutely  and  completely 
forgotten  the  existence  of  Harriet  Ivors,  of  any  barrier, 
tangible  or  intangible,  which  could  exist  to  separate 
him  from  the  woman  he  loved. 

Hesper  felt  chilled.  It  had  been  foolish  of  her  to 
mention  his  wife  at  such  a  time ;  she  should  not  have 
done  it.  In  the  realisation  of  her  own  love  she  had 


304         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

often  thought,  half -pityingly,  half -enviously,  of  the 
other  woman  who  had  shared  his  life  for  a  time  and 
then  been  reft  away.  A  cloud  had  come  over  their 
glorious  sunshine,  and  it  was  she  who  had  evoked  it. 
She  bent  shyly  towards  Ivors  and  touched  his  cheek 
lightly  with  the  back  of  her  hand,  a  fleeting  caress 
whose  satin  brevity  woke  a  thirst  that  mocked  at 
denial. 

"I  'm  sorry,"  she  said.  "I  love  you."  She  elon- 
gated the  "o"  in  the  way  Hildred  had  liked. 

This  was  Ivors's  moment:  the  great  opportunity 
which  comes  but  once.  Destiny  held  the  scales:  in 
one  temptation,  in  the  other  renunciation.  He  had 
to  speak  now  or  for  ever  after  hold  his  peace.  He  had 
only  to  tell  Hesper  that  she  had  made  a  mistake,  that 
his  wife  was  not  dead,  and  he  would  lose  her  again  for 
ever.  The  thought  that  through  their  mutual  pain 
they  might  win  peace  never  occurred  to  him.  It  was 
the  pang  of  the  moment  which  pierced  him.  He  had 
only  to  be  silent  to  take  what  Fate  thrust  at  him,  this 
transcendent  gift,  this  exquisite  joy 

The  struggle  was  brief.  Swayed  by  impulse,  over- 
mastered by  the  rushing  wind  of  his  selfish  passion,  he 
clutched  at  the  Psyche-wings  of  happiness,  unheeding 
whether  he  brushed  off  their  bloom  or  crushed  them 
in  his  rough  grasp. 

No  sense  of  sin  or  wrong  to  Hesper  crossed  his 
mind.  The  knowledge  of  her  ignorance  brought  too 
fierce,  too  subtle  a  temptation  to  be  wrestled  with. 

He  took  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her  passionately. 

"You  need  n't  be  too  sorry  for  me,"  he  said,  "I — 
she — we  did  n't  get  on.  I  don't  want  to  talk  about 
it.  It  hurts." 


4 'No  Armour  Against  Fate"      305 

"My  dearest,"  she  breathed,  all  warm  love  and 
desire  to  heal.  She  touched  his  cheek  again,  and 
held  her  own  against  it  in  a  shy  caress.  "Why  did 
you  run  away — from  the  Nitocris?" 

"I  did  n't  run  away  from  the  Nitocris.  I  ran  away 
from  you." 

"But  why?" 

"I  was  afraid." 

"Of  me?" 

"Ah,  but  you  need  n't  have  been." 

"I  didn't  realise,"  said  Ivors  with  a  long  breath 
that  was  half  a  sigh.  Then  he  shivered. 

"You  have  n't  caught  cold?" 

"No.     Oh,  no." 

"I  am  going  to  take  such  care  of  you,  such  great, 
great  care  of  you;  I  am  going  to  be  such  a  despot 
that  you " 

"You  a  despot?"  He  kissed  her  fingers.  "That 
I—  What?" 

"That  you  will  be  sorry  you  ever  married  me." 
Her  pulses  fluttered.  Life  was  very  sweet. 

Ivors  shivered  again,  and  strained  her  closely  to  him. 

"How  could  I,  how  could  any  man  ever  be  sorry  he 
married  you?  My  God,  Hesper,  don't  talk  such  mad 
nonsense." 

His  fierceness  did  not  frighten  her.  She  only 
laughed  out  of  the  fulness  of  her  content.  "  I  won't. 
I  '11  thank  God  instead. " 

"For  what?" 

"For  you,"  she  whispered. 

It  was  then  that  the  iron  began  to  enter  into  Ivors's 
soul ;  then  that  he  dimly  realised  the  truth  which  old 
Hesiod  had  discovered  some  thirty  centuries  before, 


306         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

that  when  a  man  commits  a  sin  at  that  instant  he  sows 
the  seed  of  his  own  punishment. 

With  a  great  cry  he  flung  himself  at  her  feet,  and 
clasped  her  knees. 

"Don't,"  he  cried  in  a  choked  voice.  "Don't. 
I  'm  not  worthy " 

He  would  tell  her  to-morrow,  he  thought.  He 
could  not  tell  her  now.  He  must  have  a  few  hours 
of  happiness  before  she  knew  the  truth.  No  one 
could  grudge  him  that — a  few  crumbs  of  joy  before  he 
starved  again.  She  had  been  craving  too.  It  could 
hurt  no  one.  They  must,  they  must  be  happy  together 
for  a  little.  It  was  the  call  of  primitive  Nature  which 
pierces  through  the  thickest  veneer  of  civilisation,  the 
cry  of  the  man  for  his  woman,  his  mate.  It  was  the 
axis  upon  which  the  world  of  creation  turned ;  it  was 
the  Song  of  the  Nile  translated  into  humanity. 

And  Hesper  was  happy.  She  drank  from  a  full  cup 
for  the  first  time  in  her  life.  Even  in  those  first  hours 
he  seemed  to  fulfil  every  need  of  her  being,  the  mother- 
need,  the  lover-need,  the  comrade-need.  He  called 
and  she  responded,  she  cried  and  he  answered. 

They  sat  there  in  a  dream  until  the  sun  disappeared 
behind  the  happy  Isles  to  the  westward,  bathing 
them  in  a  golden  haze,  and  turning  the  sea  to  a  faery 
lake  whose  molten  ripples  merged  from  gold  to  pale 
rose  and  amethyst,  while  the  blue  wonder  beneath 
them  deepened  almost  to  purple. 

He  found  that  Hesper  was  staying  at  the  little 
inn,  and  said  that  he  would  come  there  too,  but  she 
demurred. 

"Better  not,  perhaps,"  he  said.  "Where  is  your 
maid?" 


"No  Armour  Against  Fate"      307 

"Nanno's  mother  was  ill,  and  wanted  to  see  her 
before  she  died,  so  she  has  gone  back  to  Ireland.  She 
will  be  with  me  again  later  on. " 

"AndtheNugents?" 

"  They 've  gone  home  to  Buckinghamshire.  They 
wanted  me  to  come  too,  but — I  could  n't  somehow.  I 
felt  that  I  had  to  be  alone  for  a  little." 

"Did  I  make  you  unhappy?"  Ivors  asked  in  low 
strained  tones. 

"Very,  very  unhappy.' 

"But  you  are  happy  now?" 

"  Beyond  words, "  she  answered  simply,  turning  and 
smiling  at  him. 

In  the  waning  light  her  face  seemed  transfigured 
with  the  sense  of  that  inward  spiritual  flame  which 
Hildred  had  once  noted. 

"To  have  made  a  woman  happy,  even  for  an  hour, 
is  something  to  one's  credit,"  he  said  slowly,  as  if 
arguing  with  an  unseen  auditor. 

"What  will  it  be  for  a  whole  life,  then?"  asked 
Hesper.  After  a  moment  she  whispered,  "  Do  I  make 
you  happy?" 

He  crushed  her  fiercely  to  him.  "  Transcendently, 
gloriously,"  he  cried  with  defiance. 

Later  the  padrona  came  bustling  down  the 
steps. 

"Ah!  the  signorina  has  found  an  acquaintance," 
she  said,  scenting  intrigue  with  smiling  delight. 

"  More  than  an  acquaintance,  signora.  The  signore 
and  I  are  going  to  be  married." 

"Now  may  all  the  saints  bless  and  protect  you," 
she  cried,  "but  this  is  good  news.  The  signore  knew 
you  were  here?" 


308         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

"But  no,"  replied  Hesper  smiling.  "It  was  the 
merest  chance. " 

"AlacchM"  cried  the  plump  padrona,  lifting  her 
hands.  "Then  I  was  the  messenger  of  Love. " 

The  solidity  of  Cupid's  emissary  tickled  Ivors's 
sense  of  humour.  He  pressed  a  gold  coin  into  her 
hand. 

"Will  you  buy  yourself  a  memento  of  the  occasion, 
signora,"  he  said  with  his  most  winning  smile,  "and 
honour  me  by  so  doing?" 

"Milord  has  a  good  heart,"  said  the  padrona, 
promptly  ennobling  him.  "  I  came  to  inquire  about 
the  signorina's  dinner. " 

"Prepare  a  feast  for  us,"  Ivors  ordered.  "Your 
best  dishes,  your  best  wine.  Nectar  and  ambrosia, 
which  are  surely  to  be  found  in  this  enchanted  spot. " 

"Si,  signer e.  It  shall  be  ready  in  one  little  half- 
hour.  You  shall  have  a  frittura — but  a  frithtral" 
Uplifted  hands  and  eyes  gave  but  a  faint  indication 
of  the  delectability  of  the  frittura. 

The  little  meal  might  have  been  composed  of  nectar 
and  ambrosia  or  of  bread  and  water ;  Ivors  could  not 
have  told ;  he  ate,  and  drank,  and  looked  at  Hesper, 
and  vowed  that  it  was  a  feast  fit  for  the  gods.  He 
toasted  her  with  lips  and  eyes,  tasting  for  the  moment 
a  purer,  better  feeling  than  had  been  his  consciously 
for  years. 

There  was  a  sense  of  intimacy,  of  domesticity  in  the 
little  feast.  Ivors  waited  assiduously  on  Hesper  with 
all  the  sweet  observances  of  love.  His  gaiety  returned 
to  him  in  fitful  flashes,  but  for  the  most  part  they  were 
wrapped  in  the  content  of  the  knowledge  of  each 
other's  presence.  The  padrona  hovered  sympathetic- 


"No  Armour  Against  Fate"      309 

ally  in  the  background.  The  maid,  Rosina,  twinkled 
eyes  and  earrings  at  them  with  an  understanding  of 
which  they  were  only  half -conscious.  They  were  ab- 
sorbed in  each  other  with  that  happy,  isolated  absorp- 
tion in  which  lovers  can  envelop  themselves  as  in  a 
cloud. 

After  dinner  the  great  bay  was  flooded  with  moon- 
light. The  warm  air  was  scented  with  the  essence  of 
carnation  and  rose ;  beyond  the  plain  of  silver  sparkles 
loomed  mysterious  purple  outlines  of  dim  isle  or  misty 
headland. 

From  a  peach-tree  in  the  hidden  orchard  a  night- 
ingale "her  amorous  descant  sung.  Silence  was 
pleased." 

The  two  who  listened  heard  the  music  of  the  spheres, 
or  the  beating  of  their  own  hearts,  or  perhaps  nothing 
at  all.  They  talked  in  murmurs  or  were  silent,  while 
moonlight,  melody,  and  perfume  melted  into  one  magic 
spell. 

When  at  last  Ivors  tore  himself  away  he  thought  as 
he  lingered  on  the  narrow  dusty  road,  "  To-morrow, 
to-morrow  I  must  tell  her. " 

But  he  felt  for  the  moment  like  a  man  who  had 
been  through  the  fires  of  hell,  and  who  was  now 
restored  to  the  middle  world,  the  clean  sweet  earth, 
and  given  a  chance  to  live  and  breathe  again.  He 
drew  in  the  perfumed  air  and  squared  his  shoulders. 

"To-morrow  I  will  try  to  tell  her, "  he  amended. 


CHAPTER  II 
"WHERE  is  YOUR  TO-MORROW?" 

BUT  to-morrow,  when  it  merged  into  to-day, 
blue,  dancing,  sun-filled,  did  not  bring  the 
revelation  of  the  truth  to  Ivors's  lips. 

Hesper  was  so  radiant  when  they  met,  so  beautiful, 
so  happy,  with  gay  carnations  stuck  in  her  belt,  and  a 
holiday  air  which  no  man,  especially  one  who  loved  her 
as  he  did,  could  do  anything  to  spoil,  that  he  was 
tongue-tied  upon  the  one  essential  subject. 

Without  strenuous  effort  he  cast  the  thought  from 
him,  and  made  holiday  with  her.  She  knew  an 
enchanting  nook  among  the  rocks  beyond  the  Piccola 
Marina — a  little  cove  spread  with  silver  sand  and 
lipped  by  blue,  crested  waves.  The  padrona  had  put 
up  luncheon  for  them — chicken,  and  rolls,  and  fruit 
and  wine — they  would  have  a  dream-day,  she  asserted, 
a  day  quite  good  enough  to  be  true. 

Who  could  have  the  heart  to  quench  such  delicious 
happiness?  Not  a  man  of  Ivors's  temperament. 

He  laughed,  he  responded  to  her  lightest  change  of 
mood,  as  her  steps  had  responded  to  his  in  that  unfor- 
gotten  dance;  he  even  teased  her  a  little.  To  think 
that  she  was  here  to-day  within  touch,  that  he  could 
have  the  incredible  audacity  to  tease  her,  while  this 

310 


"  Where  is  Your  To-Morrow  ?  "    311 

time  yesterday  he  had  been  eating  heart  and  soul  out 
for  lack  of  her!  The  Fates  had  provided  a  feast  for 
him;  they  should  find  him  no  churlish  guest. 

Once  Hesper  spoke  of  Hildred. 

"Do  you  think  she  will  be  pleased?"  she  asked 
wistfully. 

Ivors  lay  on  the  sand  beside  her,  with  his  hat  tilted 
over  his  eyes. 

"Pleased  at  what?"  he  inquired  unnecessarily. 

"Pleased  to  hear  about — us,"  she  answered.  "I 
think — I  hope — she  will.  I  am  very  fond  of  Hildred. 
We  drew  rather  close  to  each  other  that  last  month 
at  Assuan. " 

Ivors  cleared  his  throat.  "I  am  sure  she  would  be 
very  pleased,"  he  lied  sturdily,  "if  she  knew." 

Hesper  looked  at  him  in  some  surprise.  "Why 
if?  Are  you  not  going  to  tell  her?" 

Ivors  turned  over  and  rested  his  face  against  her 
knee;  he  did  not  want  to  look  in  her  eyes  at  that 
moment. 

"I — of  course — if  you  wish  it, "  he  began.  Then  he 
plunged  into  halting,  awkward  speech. 

"Beloved,  I — we — I  have  had  so  little  real  happi- 
ness that  I — thought — I  hoped — Lord!  why  am  I  so 
like  a  stammering  schoolboy?"  He  stopped,  torn 
with  the  need  of  her,  knowing  his  weakness,  hating 
himself  for  lying  to  her,  yet  desiring  her  above  all 
things  in  heaven  or  earth. 

"What  is  it,  dearest?"  she  asked  softly,  caressing 
his  bent  head. 

The  touch  soothed  him,  as  contact  with  her  always 
did. 

"You  have  healing  fingers,  Hesper  Belhasard,"  he 


312         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

said,  kissing  them.  "What  I  would  say  is  only  this. 
Can  we  not  keep  this  happiness,  this  wonderful 
precious  thing  to  ourselves  for  the  present?  We 
are  rather  derelict,  you  and  I.  There  is  no  one  who 
really  needs  us  but  each  other. " 

What  could  she  say?  His  words  touched  truth  and 
woke  a  feeling  too  deep  for  speech.  They  had  only 
each  other,  but  it  was  a  possession  that  meant  hap- 
piness. Her  eyes  filled  and  she  pressed  Ivors's  head 
closer  against  her  knee. 

At  last  she  found  words. 

"Yes,"  she  said  very  softly.  "It  shall  be  as  you 
wish.  There  is  no  one  who  need  know.  The  Nugents 
are  going  to  Japan;  my  relations  never  write  to  me. 
Hildred  is  busy  and  happy,  but  not  so  happy  as  I. 
Oh,  no  one  in  the  wide  world  could  possibly  be  as 
happy  as  I  am !  My  dear !  My  dearest ! ' ' 

He  caught  her  hand  in  his  and  held  it  over  his  eyes. 
He  felt  humble  yet  radiant — a  king  among  men,  yet 
a  slave  who  was  unworthy  to  kiss  her  feet.  He  made 
a  final  tentative  effort. 

"  Don't  think  me  a  conceited  ass,  Hesper, "  he  said, 
with  some  hesitation,  "but  would  it — hurt  you  very 
much  if — if  we  had  to  part  again?" 

Hesper's  eyes  darkened  with  pain  as  fear  clutched  at 
her  heart.  Her  face  grew  white  under  the  pang  of 
the  piercing  suggestion.  She  had  no  conception  of 
the  issues  involved;  she  only  thought  of  the  past 
suffering  which  had  merged  into  these  hours  of  ecstasy, 
and  all  her  womanhood  shrank  from  the  thought  of 
its  repetition.  It  was  the  flesh  which  answered  rather 
than  the  spirit. 

"I   think — I   should  die,"   she  whispered.     Then 


"  Where  is  Your  To-Morrow  ?  "    313 

turning  away,  her  voice  choked,  "of  course  if — if 
you  don't  want  me " 

In  a  moment  Ivors  was  on  his  knees  beside  her, 
holding  her  to  him  with  that  clasp  of  fierce  defiance. 

"My  beloved!  My  soul!  My  white  star!  of 
course  I  want  you  more  than  anything  in  heaven  or 
earth.  Every  fibre  of  me  cries  out  for  you.  My  own. 
My  own. " 

"You  should  n't  frighten  me  so,"  she  said  at  last. 
' '  Let  us  be  happy  while  we  know  we  are  happy.  Don't 
let  us  do  anything  to  spoil  it.  Outside  things  may 
happen,  but  we 

"Things  shan't  happen.  You  are  mine  and  I  am 
yours,  and  no  one  shall  separate  us  now." 

The  scales  went  down.  Ivors  had  made  his  choice. 
He  would  carry  this  through,  come  what  might.  He 
was  no  murderer  to  kill  the  thing  he  loved;  he  was 
never  one  to  deny  the  joy  of  life  to  any.  He  persuaded 
himself  that  he  was  doing  Harriet  no  moral  wrong; 
that  she  had  never  been  a  true  wife  to  him  seemed  now 
an  inverted  reason  in  favour  of  his  action.  He  loved, 
he  adored  Hesper;  in  her  he  found  his  fullest  com- 
plement. Why  should  he  slay  this  late-found  perfect 
happiness?  Rapidly  his  mind  ran  over  the  arguments 
with  which  men  in  his  case  have  dulled  reason  and 
stifled  conscience,  ending  up  with  the  inevitable  justi- 
fication :  "  In  the  eyes  of  God  we  shall  be  man  and  wife. " 

He  threw  all  qualms  behind  him,  and  rose  to  the 
crest  of  this  wave  of  joy.  He  was  his  gayest,  most 
charming  self,  surrounding  the  woman  he  loved  with 
little  tendernesses,  with  new  felicitous  ways  of  making 
love,  with  innumerable  delicate  means  of  showing  her 
what  she  really  was  to  him.  He  soothed  her  fears  and 


314         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

healed  the  hurts  which  he  himself  had  made,  and 
through  it  all  asked,  asked,  asked  out  of  the  abund- 
ance of  Hesper's  warm  generous  nature.  He  could 
never  ask  too  much. 

Day  by  day  they  discovered  new  sympathies  in  each 
other,  new  shades  of  character,  new  mutual  meeting- 
places.  She  laughed  at  him  for  his  petulances,  he 
teased  her  about  her  swift  withdrawals. 

"Into  your  shell  like  a  snail  the  moment  I  come 
too  near!"  he  said  once. 

"Ah,  you  never  come  too  near  really, "  she  answered 
caressingly.  "That  was  in  the  dark  past.  I  could 
say  anything,  almost,  to  you  now.  Is  n't  it  odd  how 
much  more  intimately  one  can  talk  to  a  man  than  to  a 
woman  about  most  things?" 

"  Not  to  a  man,  to  the  man, "  returned  Ivors  quickly. 

"Ah,  yes,  that 's  it.  You  always  express  what  I  feel 
but  can't  say." 

"My  gift  of  words,"  he  said  half -lightly,  half- 
bitterly , ' '  has  been  a  useful  cloak  to  me.  I  now  spread 
it  in  homage  beneath  your  feet. " 

"What  did  it  cover? "  she  asked  softly.  " Tell  me, 
lest  I  should  tread  too  heavily  upon  it. " 

"Pain  and  pleasure,  disappointment  and,  lately, 
misery." 

"Ah,  but  that  was  in  the  dark  past,"  she  coaxed. 
"We  have  agreed  to  let  that  mediaeval  time  remain 
in  oblivion." 

"As  much  as  we  can,"  he  agreed,  "but  the  past, 
dark  or  otherwise,  has  an  ugly  knack  of  poking  its 
head  up  when  you  least  expect  it. " 

Hesper  gave  a  little  shiver.  "You  make  me  think 
of  a  snake." 


"  Where  is  Your  To-Morrow  ?  "    315 

He  drew  her  closer  to  him.  "Was  there  ever  a 
garden  of  Eden  without  its  serpent?  We  must  be 
historically  correct,  my  Eve.  We  can't  expect  every- 
thing, you  know." 

"We  have  everything,  I  think,"  she  said  with  a 
happy  little  laugh.  "There  is  no  flaw  in  my  'ship  of 
amber.'  It  is  as  clear  as — as  clear  as " 

"Butter,"  he  suggested.  "There  is  a  wealth  of 
suggestion  in  that  image  if  you  are  only  able  to 
delve  deep  enough  for  it." 

"One  needn't  delve  deep  into  butter,"  she  said, 
crinkling  up  her  eyes  at  him.  "  It 's  the  same  all  the 
way  through!" 

"That 's  more  than  you  are,"  he  answered,  with  a 
swift  flight  from  the  general  to  the  particular.  ' '  Every 
day  I  discover  something  new  in  you.  Do  you  know, 
Hesper  Belhasard,  that  you  are  the  most  absolutely 
delicious,  exquisite,  tantalising,  satisfying,  adorable 
creature  that  ever  trod  this  unworthy  earth?" 

"Oh,  hush,  hush!"  It  was  to  be  noted  that  the 
mild  protest  came  after  the  assertion.  The  words 
rang  bells  of  melody  in  Hesper 's  heart.  She  loved  to 
hear  them,  but  discounted  their  extravagance  as 
tinged  with  the  glamour  of  love. 

"You  '11  find  some  day  that  your  swan  is  a  goose," 
she  murmured. 

"Oh,  no,"  he  returned  unexpectedly.  "I  knew  it 
was  a  goose  all  the  time.  No  one  but  a  goose  would 
ever  have  cared  so  much  about  me!" 

They  made  plans  and  unmade  them,  which  is  an 
altogether  delightful  thing  to  do  when  only  two  people 
in  absolute  accord  are  concerned.  Ivors  was  to  show 


316         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

her  all  his  favourite  haunts ;  they  were  to  drift  at  will 
to  all  the  lovely  half-forgotten  places  he  knew  of; 
he  was  to  paint  dreams  and  she  was  to  live  them. 
They  were  to  have  an  idyll  without  end.  They  had 
left  out  of  their  quest  the  little  Green  Bird  who  knows 
everything  and  contented  themselves  with  having 
captured  the  Blue  Bird  of  Happiness,  whose  eyes 
they  had  dazzled  with  the  Love-Colour. 

No  beaten  track  should  ring  with  their  tread ;  they 
spoke  of  Dalmatia,  and  some  little-known  islands 
beyond  Venice,  and  one  day,  to  crown  their  imagin- 
ings came  a  much-addressed  letter  to  Ivors. 

It  was  from  the  Austrian  count  with  whom  he 
had  stayed  in  Egypt.  Its  purport  was  brief.  His 
wife  was  ill,  and  Egyptian  air  was,  for  her,  anathema, 
therefore  he  offered  the  use  of  the  island,  Geziret-el- 
Saada,  with  all  the  appurtenances  thereof,  to  Ivors  for 
the  whole  or  part  of  the  ensuing  winter. 

He  handed  the  letter  to  Hesper,  and  watched  her 
face  while  she  read  it. 

"Are  we  living  in  a  fairy-tale?"  she  cried.  "Or 
do  these  things  really  happen?" 

"  Shall  I  kiss  you  to  see  if  you  're  awake?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  don't  think  that  would  wake  me. " 

"Beloved  goose!  I  always  wanted  to  show  you 
that  island.  You  haunted  it  when  I  was  there.  I  was 
always  picturing  you  in  the  different  places  until  I 
was  nearly  mad.  Then  I  fled  again. " 

"And  all  the  time  you  had  only  to  ask " 

Ivors  winced.     "I — I — "  he  began. 

She  touched  his  cheek  with  the  back  of  her  hand. 

"  I  'm  sorry.  I  forgot  that  we  had  agreed  not  to 
talk  of  that  dreadful  time.  At  any  rate  we  are  to- 


"  Where  is  Your  To-Morrow  ?  "    317 

gether  now,  and  incredible  doors  of  delight  seem  to 
be  opening  for  us.  Oh,  my  dearest,  what  a  beautiful 
wedding-present ! " 

Ivors  drew  her  to  him  in  a  passion  of  gratitude  for  the 
delicate  reticence  which  neither  peeped  nor  probed. 
A  lesser  woman  would  have  queried  and  commented, 
and  would  have  evoked  lying  with  which  to  parry 
her;  but  with  Hesper,  save  for  the  one  great  denial, 
a  lie  was  scarcely  ever  necessary,  and  Ivors  hated 
lying.  From  the  depths  of  her  own  privacy  she  re- 
spected his,  and  she  took  the  gift  of  love  as  well  as  gave 
it  with  both  hands.  She  was  unquestioningly  happy, 
and  this  boon  of  the  island,  where  their  idyll  might 
continue  in  its  heaven-sent  withdrawal,  seemed  to  set 
the  crown  and  seal  upon  their  joy. 

"I  helped  them  to  design  and  arrange  it,"  Ivors 
was  saying.  "It  is  an  exquisite  place,  but  they  were 
tiring  of  it  even  last  year.  I  think  the  disease  from 
which  Madame  la  Comtesse  suffers  is  boredom — one 
of  the  worst  diseases,  beloved,  for  it  takes  all  the 
savour  out  of  life  and  opens  the  door  to  old  age. " 

"We  '11  keep  it  shut  as  long  as  we  can. " 

"If  you  wish  to  keep  young  desire  the  unattainable. 
When  one  ceases  to  want  anything  one  sinks  into 
sluggish  age." 

"And  you?" 

"I  want  you." 

"But " 

"I  shall  never  really  have  you.  Your  spirit,  some 
essence,  let 's  call  it  your  soul,  will  always  elude  me. 
That 's  as  it  should  be,  though.  Don't  give  me  your 
soul,  Hesper.  If  you  did  I  believe  the  little  spark  of 
good  that  may  be  in  me  would  die. " 


318         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 


"My  dearest- 


"You  don't  understand  me.  You  think  I  am  talk- 
ing mad  nonsense.  Perhaps  I  am,  but  I  mean  it," 
he  said  half -seriously,  half -whimsically.  "  Remember, 
Hesper  Belhasard,  that  you  are  my  fixed  star.  You 
must  never  cease  to  shine  or  else " 

"Or  else?" 

"I  should  sit  in  outer  darkness,"  he  answered. 
Then  in  a  lighter  tone:  "You  see  I  must  at  all  costs 
preserve  my  youth.  You  have  the  advantage  of  me 
by  a  decade  or  so  in  years,  and  half  a  lifetime  in  light- 
ness of  heart.  I  am  going  to  school  to  you  presently. 
Will  you  teach  me  some  of  the  heavenly  arts  you 
know  yourself?" 

"I  can  only  teach  you  one  thing." 

"What  is  that?" 

"How  much  I  love  you." 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  FRINGE  OF  THE  DESERT 

IT  was  with  a  sense  of  excited  anticipation  that 
Ivors  found  himself  on  board  the  steamer  which 
was  to  take  him  to  Naples  to  arrange  the  prelimin- 
aries for  what  he  euphemistically  called  their  marriage. 

It  was  a  day  of  glamour — a  day  of  soft  sea-mists, 
which  drew  away  and  descended  again,  giving  magical 
glimpses  of  blue  sea  and  hill-crested  island,  of  purple 
headland  and  rocky  coast-line  in  their  sun-shot 
withdrawals. 

There  were  several  tourists  on  the  steamer,  and  at 
first  Ivors  looked  at  them  with  that  newly  captured 
interest  in  his  fellow-creatures  which  was  another  of 
the  gifts  of  Hesper's  bestowal. 

He  watched  with  amusement  a  sharp-eyed,  rat-like 
vendor  of  real  tortoise-shell  and  imitation  pink  coral 
who  squatted  at  the  feet  of  a  comely  American  lady, 
and  hypnotised  her  into  buying  several  articles  which 
she  did  not  in  the  least  want.  He  noted  the  antics  of 
a  little  brown-faced  man  who  sold  postcards  and  tiny 
books  of  views  for  a  penny,  and  smiled  at  him  as  he 
pranced  up  and  down  the  deck,  spraying  out  the  views 
like  serpentins  at  Carnival  time,  crying,  "Only  penny! 
Piccolo,  moneta,  signori!  Piccolo,  moneta!" 

319 


320         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

When  the  band  of  musicians  broke  into  "  Addio, 
bella  Napoli!"  and  "Sole  mio"  he  felt  that  the  sweet 
hackneyed  strains  were  in  tune  with  his  mood ;  and  he 
almost  laughed  aloud  at  the  disgusted  faces  of  a  party 
of  British  tourists  (of  a  type  which  he  had  not  believed 
to  exist  outside  the  pages  of  the  comic  press) ,  at  a  gay 
little  incident  which  occurred  just  after  the  steamer 
left  the  villa-crested,  warm-tinted  cliffs  of  Sorrento. 

The  musicians  struck  up  a  tarantella,  and  the  fat 
little  man  who  had  gaily  striven  to  sell  copies  of  their 
music  to  the  passengers  put  down  his  bundle  and  began 
to  dance.  Opposite  to  where  he  pirouetted  sat  an 
elderly  Italian  gentleman  with  white  waxed  moustache 
and  dignified  mien.  His  feet  began  to  tap  upon  the 
boards,  his  head  to  nod  in  time  to  the  irresistible 
measure.  Finally  he  could  withstand  the  temptation 
no  longer,  and  he  jumped  to  his  feet,  taking  off  his  hat 
to  the  dancer  with  a  grandiloquent  flourish.  Picking 
up  the  tails  of  his  frock-coat  he  pirouetted  as  merrily 
and  as  extravagantly  as  the  other  had  done,  and  the 
white-haired  enthusiasts  quickened  their  paces  and 
flung  themselves  into  the  abandon  of  the  gradually 
increasing  tempo  with  the  ardour  of  youth  itself,  until, 
with  their  final  bows  and  flourishes,  the  music  came 
to  its  wild  climax,  and  the  dancers  sank  exhausted 
upon  the  seats. 

Ivors  joined  in  the  applause  that  followed,  thinking 
how  Hesper  would  have  enjoyed  the  little  incident, 
so  typical  of  the  light-hearted  and  unself-conscious 
Southerns.  He  pressed  a  coin  into  the  fat  man's  hand 
as  he  walked  to  the  side  of  the  steamer  to  look  back 
at  Capri  where  his  heart  was — Capri,  now  but  an 
amethyst  blur  in  the  pale  sea-mist.  On  the  seat  near 


The  Fringe  of  the  Desert         321 

him  sat  a  young  German  honeymoon  couple.  The 
bridegroom  was  tall,  plain,  sandy-haired,  and  obviously 
sick  with  love.  The  little  dark  bride  was  plump  and 
bright-eyed.  She  was  not  the  one  who  kissed,  Ivors 
thought ;  it  was  she,  rather,  who  gave  the  cheek,  and 
would  permanently  hold  the  sceptre  in  the  firm  little 
red  hands  which  the  bridegroom  from  time  to  time 
openly  fondled.  They  had  bought  oranges  at  Capri 
which  they  now  shared  in  childishly  unembarrassed 
fashion.  At  another  time  Ivors  would  have  shrugged 
his  shoulders  at  the  little  scene,  if  he  had  condescended 
to  notice  it  at  all,  but  to-day,  commonplace  and 
bourgeois  as  the  couple  were,  something  radiated  from 
them  which  was  neither  the  one  nor  the  other.  Wed- 
ding-rings gleamed  upon  the  hands  of  each;  rings 
which  had  a  meaning  and  a  symbolism  which  suddenly 
sent  a  sick  wave  of  realisation  through  Ivors.  What 
these  two  were  to  each  other  Hesper  and  he  could  never 
be  in  the  eyes  of  the  world. 

In  a  flash  of  despair  some  inkling  of  the  baseness  of 
what  he  contemplated  touched  him. 

Gone  was  the  gaiety  of  the  life  around  him;  the 
fast  dispersing  mists  disclosed  no  magic  city;  the 
majesty  of  Vesuvius,  brooding  like  Fate  over  the  cir- 
cling bay,  was  lost  to  his  darkened  vision.  Into  his 
innermost  being  he  peered,  and  shrank  back  aghast 
from  what  he  saw  therein.  He  had  never  probed  the 
realities  of  the  situation  before,  had  never  fully  con- 
sidered it  in  its  truer,  deeper  aspects.  He  had  but 
skirted  it.  Now  he  stood  on  the  fringe  of  the  desert, 
as  it  were — the  fringe  where  the  tragedy  of  lovers 
begins  or  ends — the  halting  place  between  the  wells 
and  pomegranates  of  the  oasis  and  the  barren  sandy 

21 


322         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

wastes.  He  had  to  face  the  fact  that  he  was  going  to 
commit  a  crime  in  marrying  Hesper,  a  crime  for  which 
men  were  imprisoned  for  long,  bleak,  cruel  years.  It 
was  the  personal  aspect  which  at  first  smote  him. 
Then,  as  the  veil  in  which  he  had  enwrapped  his  actions 
was  slowly  drawn  aside,  his  imagination,  which  he 
had  often  deemed  more  foe  than  friend,  painted  in 
vivid  colours  the  wrong  he  contemplated  towards  the 
three  women  whose  lives  were  entangled  with  his. 

First,  Hesper,  Hesper.  His  heart  was  wrung  at  the 
very  thought  of  her  and  all  that  she  meant  to  him. 
Now  that  he  knew  something  of  her  ideals  and  aspira- 
tions, of  the  heights  and  the  depths  of  her  nature 
and  character,  he  realised  what  a  terrible  risk  he  was 
running  if  he  carried  out  this  bigamous  marriage ;  he 
saw,  as  he  had  never  seen  before,  how  he  was  endan- 
gering her  self-respect,  her  love  for  him,  and  her 
happiness  as  well  as  his  own.  He  saw  that  such  a 
blow  would  smite  the  very  foundations  of  her  being, 
and  groaned  in  spirit  as  he  sought  for  sophistries  with 
which  to  bandage  his  eyes  from  the  sight. 

Hesper.  No,  Hesper  did  not  bear  thinking  of  as 
yet,  for  with  the  vision  of  her  came  his  own  need, 
crying  an  exceeding  bitter  cry,  a  call  from  soul  to 
soul. 

He  stumbled,  unseeing,  down  the  ship's  ladder  into 
the  boat  which  took  him  ashore,  giving  the  boatman  a 
fee  which  made  him  open  his  black  eyes  in  wonder, 
and  strode  along  the  quays,  driven  by  the  torments 
which  pursued  him. 

He  wandered  through  the  steep  fishing  quarter  of 
the  town,  up  narrow  streets  where  the  strings  of  dry- 
ing garments  fluttered  overhead  like  faded  banners, 


The  Fringe  of  the  Desert         323 

where  the  shaggy  fawn  goats  came  in  from  the  country, 
and  climbed  to  the  top  of  flights  of  steps  to  be  milked. 

On  he  wandered,  not  knowing  or  caring  where  he 
went,  heeding  nothing  save  the  fact  that  some  power 
stronger  than  himself  drove  him  forth,  and  prevented 
him  from  seeking  the  Consulate  until  he  had  for  once 
pondered  truly  upon  the  consequences  of  his  action. 

He  thought  of  Hildred  and  the  wrong  he  contem- 
plated doing  her.  He  knew  that  if  he  did  this  thing 
sooner  or  later  his  sin  must  find  him  out,  and  the 
thought  of  the  scorn  in  those  clear  eyes  whipped 
him  like  a  lash.  In  a  flash  of  self-exculpation  he 
cried  to  the  accusing  vision: 

"  It  is  your  fault  as  well  as  mine.  If  you  had  stayed 
with  me  this  never  could  have  happened. " 

True.  Hildred  could  not  cast  the  first  stone.  She 
had  left  him  in  his  need ;  she  had  deserted  him  when 
her  woman's  intuition  should  have  warned  her  that  he 
wanted  her,  that  she  alone  could  save  him. 

But  who  was  he  to  reproach  her?  What  had  he 
done  for  this  child  of  his?  Had  he  ever  loved  her, 
studied  her,  made  her  necessary  to  him,  made  himself 
necessary  to  her  as  a  father  should?  How  had  he  ever 
strengthened  this  reed  that  it  should  not  break  when 
he  leaned  upon  it?  If,  in  breaking,  it  pierced  him  as 
well,  the  fault  was  not  hers  but  his. 

Oh,  Hesper!    Hesper! 

If  he  could  creep  to  her  feet  and  cry  "Peccavi!" 
If  he  could  be  lifted  up  and  forgiven,  and  rest  bis  head 
upon  the  softness  of  her  breast!  At  the  thought  a 
wave  of  longing  shook  him. 

People  in  the  street,  sauntering  along  in  the  easy 
Neapolitan  fashion,  turned  to  look  at  the  thin,  white- 


324         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

faced  man  who  strode  past  as  if  he  did  not  know  where 
he  was  going. 

It  was  true.  He  neither  knew  nor  cared,  driven  as 
he  was  by  whips  of  despair,  tormented  by  the  conflict 
within  him.  Of  his  wife  and  his  sin  against  her  he 
thought  but  little.  He  owed  her  nothing,  he  told 
himself.  She  had  cast  him  off  for  no  real  reason  in  the 
heyday  of  his  manhood,  had  cut  him  adrift  from  all 
anchorage  and  home  and  wife  and  child,  uncaring 
whether  he  lived  or  died  or  came  to  ruin.  He  owed 
her  nothing.  Any  fault  of  his  was  condoned  by  the 
fact  that  she  had  sinned  against  him  so  deeply.  Al- 
though their  wedded  life  had  drifted  quickly  into  the 
prosaic  stage  its  ending  had  been  none  of  his  doing. 
He  would  have  gone  on  as  they  had  been  going  with- 
out a  thought  of  more  than  the  inevitable  mental 
severance.  No,  it  was  not  for  Harriet  to  cast  the  first 
stone  either. 

Then,  by  some  subconscious  reasoning,  he  thought 
of  her  for  whom  that  kindly  plea — "Let  him  that  is 
without  sin  among  you  cast  the,  first  stone, " — had 
first  been  uttered,  by  Whom  it  had  been  said  and  why, 
and  it  came  to  him  that  if  Hesper  should  stand  one 
day  before  such  a  tribunal  it  was  he  who  would  have 
dragged  her  there,  without  her  knowledge. 

Without  her  knowledge.  Ah,  there  lay  the  sting. 
He  would  smirch  her  white  purity,  drag  her  down  in 
the  eyes  of  men,  stab  her  treacherously  in  the  dark, 
and  all  because  he  loved  her.  How  he  loved  her  and 
craved  for  her  and  needed  her!  If  he  could  believe 
that  she  would  have  the  courage  to  brave  convention 
and  come  away  with  him  he  would  tell  her  all,  he  would 
risk  her  scorn  and  trust  to  the  warmth  of  her  love. 


The  Fringe  of  the  Desert         325 

But  he  could  not  be  sure.  That  was  the  crux.  For 
all  her  maturity  she  had  the  innocent  heart  of  a  child, 
and  he  could  picture  her  wounded  wonder  at  his  decep- 
tion, her  hurt  surprise  at  the  baseness  of  his  passion. 
He  dared  not  risk  it. 

At  last  he  found  that  he  had  stopped  on  the  top  of 
a  hill,  driven  to  pause  for  breath.  He  looked  around 
him.  Far  below  lay  the  great  semicircle  of  the  bay, 
shimmering  in  the  sunshine  which,  in  dispersing  the 
mists,  had  touched  the  long  ripples  of  the  water  with 
a  luminous  sheen. 

Capri  was  scarcely  visible  on  the  horizon,  and 
gardens,  rioting  with  geraniums  and  roses,  tumbled 
precipitously  beneath  him  to  the  water's  edge.  Villas, 
embowered  in  orchards  and  olive-trees,  were  dotted 
about  the  hillside,  and  a  great  pine  in  the  grounds  of 
the  nearest  one  was  etched  darkly  against  the  gleam- 
ing bay.  The  city  curved  away  to  the  left  in  a  golden 
haze. 

Above  him  a  building  struck  an  incongruous  note 
in  his  surroundings.  It  was  a  pseudo-Egyptian  temple 
built  of  rough  greyy  stone,  carving  and  symbol  here 
colourless  as  his  life  seemed  to  be  at  present. 

His  lips  twisted  themselves  into  a  wry  smile  at 
the  sight.  How  the  Egyptian  temples  seemed  to 
intrude  into  the  critical  moments  of  his  life!  He 
thought  of  the  delicate  colonnades  at  K6m  Ombo,  the 
broken  cornices  against  the  blue  sky,  the  shimmering 
loveliness  of  the  scene  from  the  bluff  on  that  other 
day  when  the  hoopoe  had  come  like  a  messenger  of 
Fate.  At  K6m  Ombo  he  had  found  and  lost  the  Love- 
Colour  and  his  heart  for  ever,  as  he  had  then  thought. 
Now  the  Fates  had  led  his  steps  to  Capri  and  Hesper. 


326         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

What  portent  had  the  rough  grey  travesty  of  colour- 
filled  loveliness  for  him  to-day  ? 

No  one  was  near  at  the  moment.  He  tried  the  gate 
leading  to  the  mock  temple,  but  it  was  locked.  Stones 
jutted  from  the  wall  here  and  there.  He  climbed  it 
easily,  and  seeking  a  corner  of  the  steps  where  he  could 
not  be  seen  from  the  road  he  sat  down,  conscious  now 
of  an  overpowering  weariness,  to  fight  his  battle  with 
himself.  Here  at  least  he  would  be  undisturbed  for 
the  present;  here  he  could  think,  could  break  away 
from  the  magic  of  Hesper's  presence. 

He  pressed  his  hands  over  his  eyes,  and  tried  to 
summon  his  forces.  Thoughts,  wild  and  incoherent, 
rushed  in  a  tumult  through  his  mind.  At  K6m  Ombo 
he  had  determined  to  seek  safety  in  flight.  What  if 
that  were  the  only  way  of  redemption  here?  Had  he 
the  courage  to  flee  from  Naples  without  ever  seeing 
Hesper  again?  It  seemed  as  if  every  drop  of  blood 
ebbed  from  his  heart  at  the  thought,  as  if  life  slowly 
left  him  to  the  chill  of  such  a  death.  No,  a  thousand 
times  no!  He  must  see  Hesper  again,  he  could  not 
live  without  her.  Then  why  not  die?  Of  what  use 
was  he  to  any  one  else?  Ah,  there  was  his  reason  for 
not  taking  the  coward's  way.  The  blood  ran  warmly 
in  his  veins  again.  Hesper  had  said  that  she  would 
die  if  he  left  her.  The  dear  specious  argument  rang 
in  his  ears  once  more.  She  would  die;  his  best 
beloved,  his  fixed  star,  and  he  would  have  killed  her. 
How  could  he  slay  her  late-found  joy?  Why  should 
they  not  take  what  they  had  won  so  hardly?  But 
what  does  the  body  matter  if  you  kill  the  soul?  Kill 
the  soul?  He  was  not  sure  that  he  had  a  soul.  Kill 
Hesper's  soul?  How  could  he  kill  Hesper's  soul, 


The  Fringe  of  the  Desert         327 

if  they  were  man  and  wife  in  God's  sight?  He  was 
not  certain  that  there  was  a  God.  He  would  cleave 
only  to  her,  forsaking  all  other.  She  wanted  no  other. 
He  was  her  world  as  she  was  his.  They  were  all  in  all 
to  each  other  in  a  sense  attained  by  few.  Why  should 
he  fling  this  gift  into  the  sea  of  oblivion  and  flee? 
He  would  never  let  Hesper  suffer,  he  would  shield  her 
with  his  life  if  necessary,  but  he  would  not  give  her  up, 
he  could  not .  The  sin  would  be  his  alone.  How  could 
it  mar  her  whiteness?  A  few  more  lies,  and  Ivors 
hated  lying,  and  the  deed  would  be  done.  It  would 
be  his  burnt-offering  to  the  Fates;  its  smoke  would 
trouble  him  no  more,  and  they  could  be  happy.  Ah, 
how  happy! 

Hesper !     Hesper ! 

But  when  she  knew  some  day,  as  she  must  inevitably 
know,  what  of  this  rainbow  palace  of  happiness? 
Would  it  not  burst  like  a  bubble  and  leave  nothing 
behind?  Would  she  not  have  a  thousand-fold  more 
to  forgive  then  than  now?  Now  the  bitterness  would 
be  clean  save  for  the  mire  of  his  deception,  which  she 
could  wash  away  with  her  tears ;  but  then — then 

Ivors  groaned  aloud  as  the  day  sank  to  its  close, 
and  the  maze  of  wild  thoughts,  weak  excuses,  pagan 
impulses  spun  bewilderingly  through  his  tortured 
mind.  The  scales  moved  so  rapidly,  one  weighty 
reason  against  another  sending  the  balance  up  and 
down  with  so  dizzy  a  motion  that  all  power  of 
judgment  seemed  suspended. 

When  at  last  he  rose  he  staggered  like  a  man  who 
had  been  through  an  illness,  and  saw  to  his  surprise 
that  the  sun  had  sunk  below  the  far  horizon  and  that 
dusk  was  coming,  velvet-footed,  through  the  orchards. 


328         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

It  was  too  late  for  action  that  day,  he  realised  with 
a  sigh  of  relief,  as  he  walked  down  the  hill  towards 
Naples. 

But  in  his  inmost  soul  two  emotions  were  paramount, 
a  sick  craving  for  the  sight  and  touch  of  Hesper  and 
the  shamefaced  knowledge,  that  come  what  might,  he 
would  stand  on  the  fringe  of  the  desert  no  longer.  He 
had  had  enough  of  the  sandy  wastes,  the  arid  desola- 
tion. The  palm-trees,  the  wells,  and  the  pomegranates 
were  in  sight,  within  touch.  A  man  were  worse  than 
mad  if  he  turned  from  them  to  go  back  to  the  wilder- 
ness to  die  of  thirst  and  loneliness.  He  had  been 
there;  he  knew.  In  the  face  of  such  knowledge  was 
he  to  thrust  Hesper  also  into  the  wastes?  Oh,  the 
cooling  wells ! 

It  was  too  late  to  return  to  Capri  that  night.  She 
would  not  be  uneasy ;  he  had  told  her  that  he  might  be 
detained,  but  the  long  dull  evening  gave  him  a  fore- 
taste of  what  life  would  be  again  without  her,  and  his 
broken  sleep  was  haunted  by  horrible  fragments  of 
dreams — vague  inestimable  losses — tragedies  that 
awakened  him  to  find  his  cheeks  wet  with  tears,  and 
kept  him  tossing  and  tumbling  until  dawn  broke,  and 
he  arose  and  went  out  to  inhale  the  fresh  sea  air  and  to 
listen  to  the  homely  jingling  noises  of  the  waking  city. 

He  sent  his  spirit  in  longing  towards  the  faint  blur 
that  was  Capri,  and  at  the  earliest  possible  hour  sought 
out  the  British  Consulate,  and  made  therein  his  burnt- 
offering  of  treachery  and  sin,  blinding  himself  deliber- 
ately to  the  fact  that  in  its  smoke  might  be  consumed 
Hesper's  happiness  and  his,  and  those  deeper  things 
which  are  more  precious  than  either. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  MAGIC  CIRCLE 

WHEN  Ivors  returned  from  Naples  he  brought 
letters  from  the   Poste  Restante  for  them 
both. 

His  was  from  Hildred,  ardent  and  thought-pro- 
voking. She  was  fired  with  enthusiasm  for  her 
work,  found  no  detail  too  small,  no  task  too  irksome 
for  pleased  fulfilment.  Mrs.  Marston,  the  matron,  was 
a  strict  disciplinarian,  but  so  kind,  and  the  nurses 
were  all  ladies,  and  more  or  less  congenial.  Her 
mother  had  neither  approved  nor  disapproved,  but 
had  stated  candidly  that  in  her  opinion  the  aim  and 
object  of  all  hospital  nurses  was  to  get  married,  but 
that  she  supposed  that  it  was  only  one  of  Nature's 
tricks  to  enable  the  world  to  continue  to  go  round! 
However,  Hildred  did  not  mind.  She  had  found  a 
niche ;  she  had  something  to  do ;  she  felt  that  she  was 
of  some  small  use  in  the  world;  that  here  she  was 
really  wanted.  She  did  not  mention  Dr.  Lisle.  She 
concluded  by  asking  him  to  write  to  her  sometimes — 
"and  remember  that  if  you  ever  need  me  I  am  quite 
ready  and  willing  to  go  to  you.  If  you  should  chance 
to  come  across  Miss  Marlowe  please  give  her  my  love, 
but  I  suppose  you  are  not  at  all  likely  to  be  anywhere 
that  she  is." 

329 


33°         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

Ivors  looked  at  Hesper  with  a  sigh  at  the  thought  of 
what  he  had  been  through.  They  were  sitting  on  the 
terrace  above  the  peach-orchard ;  she  was  in  the  little 
arbour  and  he  sat  on  a  stool  with  his  back  against  the 
vine-trellis.  Not  likely  to  be  anywhere  that  she  was? 
He  looked  with  yearning  at  the  down-bent  head,  with 
its  classic  waves  of  soft  black  hair,  at  the  drooped  white 
lids,  at  the  sweet  generous  mouth,  at  the  firm  chin 
with  its  hinted  dimples,  at  the  slim  hands  which  held 
his  heart,  at  the  beautiful  sweeping  line  of  her  figure, 
and  hoped  passionately  that  he  was  never  likely  to  be 
anywhere  but  where  she  was !  Give  her  up?  Not  for 
twenty  thousand  scruples!  Besides,  it  was  for  her 
happiness  as  well  as  his.  Had  she  not  said  that  to 
lose  him  now  would  kill  her?  Yet,  as  he  looked  at  her, 
the  essence  of  her  personality  stole  over  him  again  and 
whispered  that  here  was  no  weak  thing  of  apathetic 
resignation  to  the  blows  of  circumstance.  Some  lines 
he  had  once  read  pricked  uneasily  through  his  deliber- 
ately narcotised  conscience: 

"Yet  each  man  kills  the  thing  he  loves, 
By  each  let  this  be  heard; 
Some  do  it  with  a  bitter  look, 
Some  with  a  flattering  word, 
The  coward  does  it  with  a  kiss, 
The  brave  man  with  a  sword ! " 

Was  his  the  coward's  way  of  killing?  he  wondered. 

He  rose  suddenly,  went  to  her,  and  kissed  her,  and 
the  touch  of  her  lips  put  to  flight  all  considerations 
but  the  thought  of  her  desirability  and  of  his  great 
love  and  need  of  her.  Hildred  had  spoken  of  being 
needed ;  if  that  were  the  claim  of  womanhood  Hesper 
should  have  hers  fulfilled  in  good  measure,  pressed 


The  Magic  Circle  331 

down  and  running  over.  No  human  being  ever  needed 
another  as  he  needed  her,  he  told  himself,  and  she 
needed  him  too,  in  very  deed  and  truth.  He  kissed 
her  again. 

"Beloved,  how  I  have  wanted  you!"  he  said. 

"Yesterday?"  she  asked,  leaning  back  against  his 
shoulder,  and  letting  her  letters  fall  into  her  lap. 

"Since  the  beginning  of  Time." 

"The  hours  crawled  without  you.  The  sun  seemed 
to  stand  still.  I  wanted  you  horribly." 

"We  were  created  for  each  other,  Hesper, "  he  said 
huskily.  "See  how  we  were  brought  together  after 
all  these  empty  years." 

"These  empty  years, "  she  echoed,  looking  back  at  a 
barren  vista  that  ended  at  her  eighteenth  birthday. 

"The  days  of  fulness  are  at  hand,"  he  continued. 
"We  are  meant  to  have  them,  clearly  meant  to  have 
them. " 

She  did  not  understand  his  insistence,  but  anything 
that  breathed  of  his  love  was  sweet  to  her. 

' '  Surely, ' '  she  answered.  ' '  I  often  think  that  things 
are  more  equally  divided  than  people  imagine.  The 
balance  of  the  scales  is  always  tolerably  even,  and 
though  the  sorrowful  side  may  overbalance  some- 
times, the  turn  of  the  joyful  is  sure  to  come  sooner 
or  later." 

"  Oh,  sweet  heart  full  of  happy  and  lovely  thoughts, " 
he  cried.  ' '  What  have  I  done  to  deserve  you  ? ' ' 

"Don't  be  foolish,"  whispered  Hesper,  turning  and 
kissing  the  hand  that  clasped  her  shoulder.  "  Have  n't 
you  just  said  that  we  were  created  for  each  other, 
so  that  there  can  be  no  question  of  desert  or  non- 
desert?"  Then,  after  a  little:  "I  have  had  a  letter 


332         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

from  Nanno,  who  says  that  her  poor  old  mother  is 
still  alive  'although  they  have  had  the  priest  and  the 
doctor  to  her,'  but  that  when  the  poor  old  soul  is 
'waked'  and  buried  she  will  come  to  me,  no  matter 
what  outlandish  place  I  'm  in.  Also,  she  tells  me  a 
piece  of  news — that  Belhasard — my  godmother" — 
she  put  in  smiling — "is  to  be  sold,  and  that  she  wishes 
to  goodness  I  'd  buy  it  and  marry  a  nice  gentleman  and 
settle  down  there!  What  do  you  think,  Ingram?" 
she  laughed  softly.  "  It  is  a  dear  old  place,  with  quaint 
rooms  and  passages,  and  the  sweetest  little  morning- 
room  down  three  steps,  which  opens  on  to  a  closed  rose- 
garden  with  a  fountain  in  the  centre  where  goldfish 
used  to  live.  Shall  we  buy  it  and  make  it  our  per- 
manent home?  I  think  my  darling  daddy  would  be 
very  happy  if  he  could  know  that  you  and  I  were 
there." 

Ivors  stroked  her  hair.  "It  shall  be  just  as  you 
like,  beloved." 

"How  pleased  Nanno  will  be  when  she  hears  that 
we  are  going  to  be  married !  She  thought  you  were  a 
darlin'  gentleman,  God  bless  you,  and  too  fine  a  man 
entirely  to  be  fiddlin'  about  all  day  with  them  paints ! 
Like  most  people  in  Ireland,  gentle  and  simple,  she 
considers  spinsterhood  a  stigma.  It  will  delight  her 
good  heart  when  she  hears  that  it  is  to  be  removed 
from  me." 

Ivors  thought  for  a  moment.  Here  was  a  simple 
way  of  pleasing  her,  and  one  comparatively  unfraught 
with  danger.  It  was  not  likely  that  Nanno's  know- 
ledge could  make  mischief. 

"You  may  tell  her  if  you  like,"  he  said,  "but  ask 
her  not  to  gossip  about  it. " 


The  Magic  Circle  333 

"Oh,  thank  you,  dearest,"  she  exclaimed,  pleased 
as  a  child.  "  Nanno  won't  gossip.  She  can  keep  her 
counsel  as  well  as  any  one  I  know.  Now  if  we  could 
only  tell  Hildred  and  the  Nugents  I  should  be  perfectly 
happy." 

Ivors  frowned  a  little,  and  moved  uneasily.  "I 
did  not  think  that  you  were  the  conventional  woman 
who  wants  all  her  friends  to  know  of  her  capture," 
he  said  petulantly. 

"But  I'm  not,  you  misunderstand  me,"  she  an- 
swered, drawing  back  slightly.  A  faint  colour  flushed 
her  cheeks.  "I  confess,  Ingram,  that  I  did  not  think 
you  were  capable  of  such  a — such  a — yes,  I  will  say  it 
— vulgar  insinuation. " 

Ivors  laughed,  and  caught  her  hands,  all  his  irritation 
banished  by  the  sparkle  of  her  eyes.  "Forgive  me, 
dearest  of  all  things.  I  love  teasing  you. " 

"Are  you  sure  you  were  only  teasing?  Are  you 
sure  that  you  did  n't  mean  that  horrid  thing?" 

"Of  course  I  did  n't,  goose. "  Then  he  added  with  a 
sigh  that  melted  the  last  icicle  of  Hesper's  aloofness: 
"  Do  you  think  for  an  instant  that  I  am  so  fatuous  as 
to  imagine  myself  a  capture  of  whom  any  woman  could 
be  proud?" 

"That 's  fishing,"  she  said,  "and  all  your  life  long 
you  've  had  more  compliments  than  were  good  for 
you." 

"They  were  Dead  Sea  fruit.  Give  me  a  bite  of 
your  Apple  of  Common-Sense." 

"I  'm  afraid  I  can't  spare  any.  Besides,  if  I  did, 
you'd  probably  turn  round  later  on,  like  Adam,  and 
say  that  I  tempted  you. " 

"And  have  n't  you?" 


334         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

"To  what  have  I  tempted  you,  may  I  ask?" 

"To  loving  you  more  than  is  good  for  my  soul, 
I'm  afraid,"  he  said,  walking  to  the  edge  of  the 
terrace  and  looking  down  at  the  amazing  blueness  of 
the  sea. 

She  rose  too  and  followed  him,  slipping  her  hand 
through  his  arm. 

"No,  beloved.  No,  Ingram.  You  mustn't  say 
that.  You  must  unsay  it  now  this  very  moment. " 

"How  can  one  unsay  what  one  has  already  said? 
Scientists  tell  us  that  sound  never  dies,  so,  according 
to  them,  my  careless  words  will  go  echoing  through 
aeons  of  time,  if  not  eternity. " 

"Were  they  careless?" 

"Execrably  so." 

"Did  you  mean  them?" 

"Sweetest  heart!" 

"  Did  you  mean  them  at  all,  Ingram?  "  She  rubbed 
her  cheek  coaxingly  against  his  shoulder,  and  her  tone 
rang  wistfully. 

He  answered  her  with  the  fierceness  to  which  some- 
thing in  the  high  mettle  of  her  nature  responded. 
"How  could  I  mean  them?  How  could  my  love  for 
you  be  anything  but  the  best  part  of  me,  the  one  spark 
of  light  in  my  whole  careless,  selfish  life?"  He  kissed 
her  hair  and  eyes. 

"The  coward  does  it  with  a  kiss, 
The  brave  man  with  a  sword. " 

The  words  rang  through  his  brain,  but  he  only  held 
her  the  closer. 

"  Now  tell  me  your  reasons  for  letting  the  world  into 
our  secret,  Hesper  Belhasard." 


The  Magic  Circle  335 

"  It 's  not  the  world,  it 's  only  the  Nugents  and 
Mildred." 

"  Let 's  take  the  Nugents  first. " 

"They  are  my  very  good  friends,  and  I  would  like 
them  to  share  my  happiness.  Besides,  I  've  just  had  a 
letter  from  Gerda  who,  in  her  usual  frank  way,  criti- 
cised you !  She  would  not  dare  to  do  that  if  she  knew 
what  we  were  to  each  other." 

Ivors  laughed.     "What  did  she  say?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  think  she  'd  like  me  to  tell." 

"Very  well,  then,  goose.  But  don't  imagine  for 
an  instant  that  I  care  a  centesimo  what  any  one  but 
you  thinks  or  says  about  me.  That  disposes  of  the 
Nugents." 

"Does  it?" 

"NowforHildred." 

She  drew  his  face  closer  to  hers  and  spoke  very  low. 
"  It 's  only,  it 's  only  that  we  two  are  so  happy,  and  she 
is  outside.  There  are  only  the  three  of  us,  you  and 
she  and  I.  Why  should  n't  we  bind  our  little  circle 
as  closely  together  as  possible?  I  don't  think  she  'd 
resent  it,"  Hesper  continued  diffidently.  Ivors's 
clasp  tightened.  "I  think  she  really  liked  me,  and  I 
am  very  fond  of  her.  We  got  to  know  each  other 
better  that  last  month  at  Assuan.  I  wish  you  would 
tell  her." 

"By  the  way,  who  was  the  young  man  who  would  n't 
take  no  for  an  answer?" 

"  It  was  Roddy.  Did  n't  you  know?  Foolish  boy, 
his  persistence  drove  her  away. " 

"What  do  these  children  know  of  love?" 

"Ah,  what?"  sighed  Hesper,  with  the  inevitable 
assurance  of  all  lovers  since  the  world  began  that  they, 


336         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

the  man  and  woman  in  the  eternal  love-cycle,  are  the 
only  two  who  know  the  real  meaning  of  that  encyclo- 
paedic monosyllable. 

"And  what  about  your  Baron?  "  Ivors  asked  after 
a  pause. 

"Ah,  he  was  a  pleasant  creature,  but  very  senti- 
mental." 

"How  I  wish  I  had  known!" 

"Known  what?" 

"Your  opinion  of  him.  I  should  never  have  been 
jealous  of  a  pleasant  creature." 

"And  were  you  jealous?" 

"Fiendishly." 

"You  needn't  have  been.  There  was  never  any 
one  else, "  she  said  simply. 

"Since  Time  began?" 

" Since  Time  began. "  Then:  "Well,  what  about 
Hildred?" 

Ivors  was  brought  back  to  the  present  with  a  jar. 
Her  insistence  fretted  him,  but  he  was  ashamed  of  his 
former  irritability.  He  could  have  laughed  aloud  at 
the  bitter  irony  of  life.  Here  he  had  to  deny  her  the 
one  thing  he  most  wished  for  himself.  He  would 
have  given  a  great  deal  if  he  could  have  stood  forth 
and  boldly  proclaimed  Hesper  his  wife  in  the  face  of 
the  world.  He  gloried  in  her  love  for  him,  in  his  for 
her,  and  yet  he  had,  perforce,  to  deny  her,  to  hide  her 
away  in  the  forgotten  corners  of  the  world.  He  had 
deliberately  shut  his  eyes  to  any  other  alternative; 
their  feet  were  set  now  on  a  path  from  which  there 
must  be  no  turning  back.  They  were  leaving  the 
fringe  of  the  desert ;  the  cool  wells  and  the  pomegran- 
ates were  before  them,  the  wastes  lay  behind.  He 


The  Magic  Circle  337 

could  not  close  his  ears  to  the  clanking  of  his  fetters, 
but  he  would  do  his  best  to  prevent  Hesper  from 
hearing  it  too.  He  scarcely  realised  how  oblivious 
she  was  of  the  mundane  just  now,  how  closely  attuned 
were  all  her  senses  to  the  hearing  of  the  music  of  the 
spheres. 

"We  're  in  a  magic  circle  of  our  own,  beloved,"  he 
whispered.  "I  don't  want  to  let  any  one  else  in  just 
yet.  Won't  you  wait?  Some  day " 

"Some  day,"  she  echoed,  "is  no  day.  But  never 
mind!  I  don't  want  any  one  but  you,  I  assure  you. 
I  am  looking  forward  with  all  my  heart  to  our  wander- 
ings, and  then  to  our  winter  in  that  Arabian-Nights- 
like  island. " 

"It  is  like  the  Arabian  Nights.  You  will  love  it, 
with  its  silent-footed  servants,  and  its  garden  and  its 
big,  cool  rooms  full  of  beauty  and  mystery,  and  the 
flat  roof  on  which  you  can  sleep  if  you  like,  with 
nothing  but  the  whispering  wind  between  you  and 
the  stars." 

"It  sounds  enchanting,"  she  murmured. 

"You  won't  be  lonely  there?  We  don't  want 
people  do  we?" 

"People?  'And  thou  beside  me  singing  in  the 
wilderness'?"  she  quoted  with  a  fine  scorn. 

Ivors  was  silent.  Sometimes  the  fire  of  joy  burns 
fiercely  and  scorches  those  who  come  too  near. 

"The  only  thing  about  it  that  I  don't  like,"  con- 
tinued Hesper,  "is  its  name.  It  seems  like  tempting 
Fate  to  call  a  place  the  Island  of  Happiness." 

"  It  was  their  naming,  not  ours, "  said  Ivors  quickly. 

"  I  know,  but  I  feel  as  if  we  have  had  too  much  our- 
selves already,  somehow;  as  if  we  ought  to  do  some- 


338         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

thing  to  propitiate  the  gods,  like  that  king  of  old  who 
threw  his  ring  into  the  sea. " 

"Don't  worry .  I'  ve  made  a  burnt-offering  already . ' ' 
Ivors  said,  unthinking.  Then  in  a  lighter  tone: 
"You  little  Pagan,  are  you  superstitious?" 

Hesper  laughed.  "  Not  really,  though  I  suppose  all 
Irish  people  are  tinged  with  superstition,  more  or  less. 
What 's  your  burnt-offering?" 

Ivors  evaded  answering.  "Hildred  told  me  that 
you  once  enlightened  her  on  the  great  differences 
between  English  and  Irish  people.  I  wish  you  'd  tell 
me  some." 

"Well,  the  English  pronounce  grass — "she  began. 

"I  don't  mean  differences  in  pronunciation,  you 
find  those  in  every  English  county,  but  something 
more  fundamental,  more  racial. " 

Hesper  pondered.  "Well,  really  at  the  moment  the 
only  thing  I  can  think  of  is  that  the  English  never  say 
'God  bless  you'  when  you  sneeze!" 

Ivors  burst  out  laughing.  "Oh,  you  dearest!"  he 
cried.  "Life  with  you  should  be  one  long  delight." 

"And  why  not?"  asked  Hesper  Belhasard,  as  she 
winked  away  a  tear  of  happiness  which  fell  on 
Ivors's  coat. 


CHAPTER  V 

GEZfRET-EL-SA&DA 

AFTER  their  marriage,  which  no  thunderbolt  of 
circumstance  prevented,  they  journeyed  to 
Egypt  by  circuitous  ways.  Indeed,  no  one  who  noted 
the  involutions  of  their  wanderings  would  ever  have 
imagined  that  their  faces  were  set,  even  in  thought, 
towards  that  land  of  dead  kings  and  living  peasants. 

Avoiding  the  beaten  track,  they  met  no  old  ac- 
quaintances and  made  few  new  ones.  They  were 
content  with  one  another,  and  as  each  day  progressed 
to  its  close  they  drew  more  closely  together  in  sym- 
pathy and  spirit,  their  need  of  each  other  increasing 
rather  than  diminishing  with  time. 

Hesper's  beauty  grew  and  deepened.  It  lost  the 
touch  of  coldness  which  had  appeared  a  flaw  to  some, 
a  charm  to  others.  The  inner  radiance  which  before 
had  been  but  evanescent  now  shone  through  her  every 
look. 

Ivors  changed  too,  but  with  a  difference.  He  grew 
thinner,  and  his  temples  were  touched  with  grey. 
Hesper  thought  it  added  to  his  look  of  distinction. 
She  liked  men  to  be  of  "the  lean  kine,"  she  said, 
unwitting  of  what  had  worn  him.  It  seemed  almost 
as  if  the  fire  of  happiness  which  irradiated  her  were 

339 


34°         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

slowly  consuming  him,  as  if  his  overmastering  passion 
were  too  strong  for  the  frame  which  leashed  it.  He 
alternated  fitful  outbursts  of  energy  with  periods  of 
inactive  reaction,  and  although  he  determinedly  never 
looked  back,  the  daily  revelation  of  the  depths  and 
heights  of  Hesper's  love,  her  inner  purity  and  the 
sweetness  of  her  soul,  stung  him  from  time  to  time  with 
a  burning  sense  of  the  wrong  which  he  had  done  her. 
Still,  he  tasted  happiness,  holding  what  he  had  taken 
with  all  the  defiance  of  conscious  possession,  and 
striving  daily  with  every  art  in  his  power  to  grapple 
her  to  him  "with  hooks  of  steel"  which  should  hold 
fast  when  the  inevitable  cataclysm  came.  For  that 
it  was  inevitable,  sooner  or  later,  Ivors  knew  in  the 
depths  of  his  being;  and  he  wrought  to  make  himself 
so  necessary  to  Hesper  that  no  knowledge,  however 
bitter  or  shameful,  could  bring  about  separation. 
That  was  what  he  dreaded  most  of  all — that  she 
should  leave  him.  He  could  not  face  the  loneliness  of 
life  without  her  again.  These  two  solitary  creatures 
whom  Destiny  had  brought  together  clung  all  the 
more  closely  on  account  of  the  long  empty  years  they 
had  spent  apart.  The  Hesper  whom  Ivors  knew  was 
a  being  no  one  else  had  ever  seen,  and  the  Ingram  of 
her  love  was  a  man  whom  neither  friend  nor  enemy 
would  have  even  dimly  recognised,  for  he,  like  most 
men,  boasted, 

".  .  .  two  soul-sides,  one  to  face  the  world  with, 
One  to  show  a  woman  when  he  loves  her!" 

It  was  with  a  sense  of  home-coming  that  Hesper 
saw  Egypt  again,  though  anything  which  opposed 
more  contrast  to  that  sun-baked  country  than  her  own 


Geziret-El-Saada  341 

land  of  mist-haunted  hills  and  purple  heather  could 
scarcely  be  imagined.  Its  indefinable  charm  drew  her, 
enveloped  her  as  it  had  done  before,  and  Ivors  was 
content  in  her  content. 

They  did  not  linger  on  the  way ;  they  were  anxious 
to  get  to  El-Saada ;  and  the  faithful  Moussa,  who  met 
them  in  Cairo,  and  kissed  Hesper's  hand  with  the 
grace  of  a  courtier,  had  made  all  the  necessary  arrange- 
ments for  their  arrival. 

They  went  by  train,  and  Hesper  saw  familiar  sights 
from  a  different  aspect,  travelling  in  a  few  hours 
through  the  variations  of  colour  and  costume  which 
had  meant  weeks  of  experience  on  the  slower  water- 
way. 

When  the  square-topped  colonnade  of  the  Temple 
of  Kom  Ombo  came  in  sight,  she  slipped  her  hand  into 
Ivors's  and  smiled  at  him,  touching  the  enamelled  sun- 
disc  which  spread  its  tinted  wings  across  the  lace  at  her 
throat. 

"Do  you  remember?"  she  asked,  past  pain  obliter- 
ated in  the  sweetness  of  the  present. 

"  I  remember, "  answered  Ivors,  thinking  of  all  that 
had  happened  in  the  few  brief  months  that  held  the 
greatest  moments  of  his  life.  In  a  flash  he  saw  the 
mock  temple  at  Naples,  and  felt  again  for  an  instant 
the  bitterness  of  his  struggle. 

The  curving  cornice  and  the  great  pillars  stood  out 
for  a  moment  against  the  blue  like  a  cameo  of  clouded 
amber  upon  turquoise,  then  disappeared  from  sight. 

"We  must  go  there  again  some  day, "  he  said,  rousing 
himself  with  an  effort.  "  Perhaps  the  hoopoe " 

"Has  gone  back  to  Balkis,  Queen  of  Sheba. " 

"Or  more  probably  is  nesting  in  one  of  the  clefts 


342         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

above  the  old  gods — the  falcon-headed  HaroSris  or 
the  ibis-headed  Thout.  Is  n't  it  odd  how  those  old 
sculptors  managed  to  invest  their  animal-headed  gods 
with  dignity?  And  the  fellows  had  no  idea  of  per- 
spective either,  or  of  any  way  of  presenting  the  figure 
except  in  profile.  They  ought  to  look  ridiculous, 
grotesque,  but  they  don't,  somehow  I  wonder  why?" 

"It's  because  they  are  in  their  proper  environ- 
ment," Hesper  answered  dreamily.  "Incongruity 
only  means  wrong  surroundings.  Look  at  those  men 
working  that  shaddf!  With  their  naked  bronze  limbs 
and  blue  robes  girt  about  their  waists  they  look  in 
perfect  harmony  with  the  sand  and  the  palm-trees. 
Put  them  down  in  a  London  street!" 

"What  logic!"  mocked  Ivors.  "You  are  becoming 
quite  a  dialectician,  Hesper  Belhasard. " 

"What 's  that?"  she  asked.  "I  am  far  too  happy 
to-day  to  understand  words  of  more  than  two 
syllables." 

"Hell,  Hope,  Heaven,"  he  murmured  half  to  him- 
self. "Harriet,  Hildred,  Hesper.  All  the  big  things 
in  my  life  have  begun  with  H.  Pity  I  was  not  born  a 
cockney!" 

"H  'm,"  said  Hesper.  "I  didn't  catch  what  you 
said." 

"  I  said  that  you  and  Heaven  began  with  the  same 
letter,"  he  answered. 

"What  about  that  for  logic?"  she  laughed.  "Oh, 
my  dearest,  why  do  you  love  me  so  much?" 

"  I  'm  afraid  I  can't  help  it  now.  I  'm  a  creature  of 
habit,  Hesper  Belhasard, "  he  said,  kissing  the  hand  he 
held,  and  thinking  to  himself,  "And  I  can  laugh, 
actually  laugh  at  these  things,  which  are  the  biggest 


Geziret-El-Saada  343 

in  the  world  to  me!  What  sort  of  worm  am  I,  after 
all?  If  Hesper  could  look  into  the  depths  of  my  soul 
what  would  she  think  of  the  coward  and  the  liar  that 
she  'd  see  there?" 

He  shook  the  thought  from  him — the  thought 
which,  although  it  returned  in  Protean  disguises 
always  had  the  power  to  sting  and  burn — and  spoke 
of  the  life  they  would  lead  at  El-Saada. 

"Our  home,"  said  Hesper  softly.  "It  gives  me  a 
thrill  of  excitement  every  time  I  think  of  it.  You 
must  paint  it  all  for  me,  Ingram.  You  must  paint 
me  the  Song  of  the  Nile. " 

"And  you  must  play  it  for  me, "  he  declared,  "with 
the  diapason  of  the  mountains  as  they  melt  away  to 
an  amethyst  diminuendo  or  come  thundering  down  in 
a  golden  crescendo  of  towering  cliff  and  crag!" 

"  Now,  are  we  talking  music,  painting,  or  nonsense?  " 
asked  Hesper,  with  a  little  excited  laugh. 

"What  does  it  matter?"  said  Ivors,  drawing  her 
closer. 

The  train  swept  through  palm-grove  and  brown 
tilled  land,  through  sun-dried  village  and  tawny  wastes 
of  desert,  past  the  ragged  mat  tents  of  the  Bishartn 
camp  in  the  crumbling  old  Arab  cemetery,  and 
stopped  at  last  at  the  railway-station  at  Assuan. 

Moussa  came  to  the  carriage,  resplendent  in  a  peach- 
coloured  kuftdn,  and  opened  the  door  with  a  flourish. 

"The  boatmen,  o  efendi,"  he  said,  indicating  some 
waiting  figures  who  made  a  brilliant  spot  of  colour 
on  the  platform. 

With  their  black  Nubian  faces,  their  gleaming  teeth, 
and  their  costumes  of  red  tarbtishes,  jackets  and  shoes, 
full  white  trousers  and  deep  purple  waistbands,  it 


344         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

seemed  to  Hesper  as  if  they  might  have  stepped 
straight  out  of  the  pages  of  the  Arabian  Nights. 

"It's  beginning,"  she  cried  with  a  little  gasp  of 
delight.  "Why,  they  're  just  like  fuchsias!" 

Ivors's  vagrant  fancy  was  tickled  at  the  simile,  and 
he  ever  afterwards  referred  to  the  four  boatmen  as 
"  your  fuchsias. "  The  livery  had  been  devised  by  the 
Graf  von  Strelitz,  and  its  wearers  had  squatted  for 
hours  under  the  palm-trees  in  the  dust,  waiting  to  do 
honour  to  their  new  if  temporary  master. 

Ivors  remembered  some  of  them  and  spoke  to  all. 
He  had  a  way  with  the  Arabs  which  resulted  in  excel- 
lent service;  and  flashing  smiles  now  bore  testimony 
to  his  popularity. 

"Thefeldkeh  awaits,  o  efendi, "  said  Ali,  the  chief 
boatman.  "We  will  return  after  for  the  luggage. 
The  sitt  will  walk?  It  is  very  near. " 

Ivors  looked  at  Hesper.  "  Can  you  walk  a  hundred 
yards  or  so?"  he  asked.  "Across  the  road  and  the 
sandy  bank  as  far  as  old  Nile?" 

"I  think  I  can,"  she  answered  gravely.  Then  she 
gave  his  arm  a  little  squeeze.  "Oh,  Ingram,  I  feel 
as  excited  as  a  child." 

The  time  of  tourists  was  not  yet,  and  the  bright 
little  town  seemed  half-deserted.  Only  a  desultory 
vendor  or  two  of  fly-switches  and  bead-chains  moved 
in  the  distance,  and  these  Moussa  dispersed  in  lordly 
fashion  as  they  approached. 

Thefelfikeh  lay  by  the  bank.  It  was  gaily  painted, 
as  were  all  the  Assuan  boats,  but  instead  of  the  usual 
crude  green  and  yellow  and  scarlet,  its  rudder  and 
little  railing  bore  the  fushcia  colours,  purple,  crimson, 
and  white.  Hesper  was  silent  with  pleasure  as  she 


Geziret-El-Saada  345 

stepped  in  and  sank  luxuriously  on  the  soft  red 
cushions. 

"It 's  too  delightful  for  words,"  she  sighed,  as  the 
felukeh  shot  out  into  midstream  and  drifted  quickly 
down  the  river  towards  the  picturesque,  tree-shaded 
Elephantine  Island. 

The  gay  clean  town  rising  in  tiers  of  flat-topped 
houses  pierced  here  and  there  by  snowy  minarets, 
the  clustered  palms,  the  avenues  of  lebekh  trees,  the 
rude  ruin  of  Cleopatra's  bath  jutting  out  into  the 
water,  the  groups  of  Nile-boats  along  the  bank,  all 
brought  the  desired  and  familiar  atmosphere  to  the 
two  who  sat  and  watched  it  and  each  other  with 
enchanted  eyes. 

Behind  them,  in  odd  juxtaposition,  the  crescent  on 
a  dome  and  the  cross  of  the  English  church  stood  out 
upon  the  sky-line ;  and  the  clear,  delicious  air  brought 
with  it  a  sense  of  exhilaration. 

The  feldkeh  swung  round  with  a  jerk,  and  faced 
up  the  river.  AH  hoisted  a  peaked  sail  and  they 
moved  slowly  towards  their  goal;  sailing  against  a 
current,  which  had  lost  no  strength  since  its  waters  had 
rushed  through  the  sluice-gates  of  the  great  dam  in 
foam-white  torrents,  thundering  iridescent,  until  it 
swirled  here  round  the  granite  islets — tumbled  heaps 
of  stone,  brown,  reddish,  purple — whose  savage  desola- 
tion was  occasionally  softened  by  a  knot  of  rushes  or 
a  clump  of  low-growing  tamarisk,  or  emphasised  by  a 
rude  hieroglyph  of  god  or  bird  cut  deep  upon  some 
large  bare  boulder,  whose  base  was  polished  with  a  fine 
black  glaze  from  the  ceaseless  eddying  of  the  water. 

To  the  right  rose  the  golden  hills  of  Libya,  whose 
reddish  spurs  were  clothed  with  sands  as  vivid  as 


346         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

those  of  fabled  Pactolus ;  sands  which  glowed  as  if  the 
molten  metal  had  been  poured  over  the  rocky  slopes, 
whose  brilliance  was  accentuated  by  their  powdering 
of  blackened  stones  and  the  intense  blueness  of  the 
sky  which  rose  above  them. 

One  of  the  boatmen  struck  up  a  song  which  the 
others  accompanied  with  a  soft  clapping  of  hands. 

"A  lover  said  to  a  dove: 
'Lend  me  your  wings  for  a  day, 
That  I  may  soar  thro*  the  sky 
And  see  my  beloved's  face. 
I  shall  obtain  enough  love, 

0  dove,  for  a  year  and  a  day. 

1  will  return,  O  dove! 

Lend  me  your  wings  for  a  day!'" 

Ivors  roughly  translated  the  words  for  Hesper. 
The  crude  melody,  the  soft  insistence  of  the  hand- 
beats  added  the  final  touch  to  the  scene. 

"Sight  and  sound  blend  here  as  they  do  nowhere 
else,"  said  Hesper  with  a  sigh.  "It  is  perfect,  isn't 
it,  dearest?" 

"I  think  there  is  something  about  this  glowing 
barbarity  which  almost  frightens  me, "  returned  Ivors 
slowly.  "The  suave  beauties  of  K6m  Ombo  and 
Luxor  appeal  to  me  more." 

"Then  why ?" 

"Ah,  wait  until  you  come  to  El-Sa&da, "  he  an- 
swered with  a  smile. 

They  had  left  hotels  and  inhabited  islands  behind 
them,  and  now  came  within  sight  of  their  new  home, 
a  green  mass  embowering  a  glimpse  of  cream.  Ali 
leaped  to  lower  the  sail  as  the  bow  of  the  feldkeh 
grounded  softly  on  a  little  bay  of  yellow  sand,  from 


Geziret-El-Saada  347 

which  a  tiny  pier  of  polished  granite  blocks  ran 
outwards  into  the  water. 

Ivors  and  Hesper  walked  up  the  path  into  a  garden. 
Tall  silvery  eucalyptus  and  feathery  pepper-trees 
raised  their  foliage  against  the  blue.  Great  bushes  of 
oleander  in  all  gradations  of  colour,  from  white  to 
sunset-pink,  flushed  the  garden  in  masses,  while 
poinsettias  showed  tongues  of  flame  amid  the  green. 
Orange  and  lemon-trees  glowed  with  their  burden  of 
fruit,  and  there  were  roses  everywhere.  By  the  side 
of  the  path  they  trod  was  a  little  channel  paved  with 
turquoise  tiles,  over  which  a  stream  of  water  trickled 
with  a  tiny  cool  murmur.  Young  palms  clustered  in 
corners  through  whose  branches  flitted  shy,  velvet- 
throated  bulbuls  with  little  melodious  twitters.  A 
bee-eater,  like  a  green  flash,  alighted  at  the  edge  of  the 
stream  and  sipped  daintily. 

Down  an  alley  of  oleanders  came  a  pair  of  gazelles, 
fawn-dappled  and  slender,  with  graceful  timid  move- 
ments as  if  inviting  a  greeting. 

"It 's  too  much,  dearest, "  said  Hesper  with  a  little 
catch  in  her  voice.  "This  is  an  enchanted  garden, 
and  here  are  the  prince  and  princess  who  have  been 
turned  into  gazelles.  And  the  turquoise  tiles!  And 
surely  I  hear  the  sleepy  purring  creak  of  a  sakiyeh. 
It  is  really  too  much. " 

"It 's  not  half  enough,"  said  Ivors,  touched  at  her 
pleasure.  "The  tiles  were  a  fad  of  Madame's,  who 
had  also  seen  them  in  Persia,  and  I  am  glad  to  see  that 
the  gazelles  are  still  alive.  They  are  called  Anas 
el-Wogud  and  Zahr  el- Ward,  after  a  pair  of  lovers  who 
lived  on  the  Island  of  Philae — Anas  and  Zahr  for  short. 
Ta'dla  hena,  Anas.  Ta'dli,  Zahr." 


348         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

He  held  out  his  hand,  and  the  dainty  creatures 
came  a  little  nearer,  looking  at  him  with  great  dark 
eyes;  then  some  movement  startled  them,  and  they 
turned  and  trotted  away  among  the  oleanders. 

"I  must  make  friends  with  them,"  said  Hesper. 

"That 's  easily  done.  They  're  really  quite  tame, 
but  a  little  shy  just  now.  Come!  I  want  to  show 
you  the  house." 

It  was  a  low  cream-coloured  structure,  built  in  the 
Arab  style  of  arched  verandahs  and  flat-topped  roof. 
Inside,  the  dim  richness  of  Persian  rugs  and  carpets 
was  spread  pleasantly  beneath  one's  feet.  The  win- 
dows were  latticed  in  delicate  mushrabiyieh,  and  each 
had  its  softly  cushioned  divan.  On  the  inlaid  tables 
stood  turquoise  bowls  of  stiffly  arranged  flowers,  and 
against  the  wall  at  one  end  was  a  fragment  of  some 
temple  nook,  the  golden-yellow  cartouche  of  a  king 
encircled  by  the  love-colour.  One  end  of  the  verandah 
was  curtained  off  into  a  sort  of  loggia,  and  hung  with 
gay  tenting  covered  with  crude  brilliant  figures  of 
the  old  Egyptian  deities.  Here  were  spread  divans, 
cushions,  and  all  contrivances  for  lazy  ease.  One 
looked  over  its  flat  cream  parapet  at  the  golden  hills 
and  the  river  which  now  ran  molten  with  the  sun-rays, 
and  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  distant  Nubian  village  with 
its  cylindrical  mud-huts  and  the  far  black  silhouettes 
of  women  coming  down  to  the  water's  edge. 

On  a  divan  lay  a  lute  inlaid  with  silver  and  ebony, 
just  as  if  some  rose- veiled  Fatmeh  had  but  that  moment 
put  it  down. 

Ivors  touched  its  strings  softly. 

"To-night  when  the  sky  is  jewelled  with  stars  as 
large  as  moons  I  will  serenade  you  with  this,  beloved. " 


Geziret-El-Saada  349 

He  moved  towards  her  and  took  her  in  his  arms. 
"Welcome  home,  my  sweetest  heart.  May  your  days 
be  as  white  as  milk. " 

"Ah,  my  man,  my  man, "  she  said,  resting  her  cheek 
against  his. 

"What  a  delicious  voice  you  have,  Hesper  Belhas- 
ard,"  he  said,  after  a  little.  "It  is  one  of  your  chief 
charms.  I  hate  loud  voices,  and  angry  voices  hurt 
me  like  a  blow.  I  think  I  'd  do  anything  to  avoid  a 
scene. " 

"And  yet  one  must  n't  shirk, "  said  Hesper.  "  Some- 
times it  is  sheer  cowardice  to  avoid  the  unpleasant. " 

"Are  you  trying  to  strengthen  my  weakness?" 

"Ah,  you  don't  want  any  strengthening." 

"God  knows  I  do,"  said  Ivors  with  a  bitter  pang. 

"  I  suppose  we  all  do. " 

"I  have  not  the  strength  to  hurt  you,  beloved, "  he 
said,  lulling  his  qualms  with  sophistries. 

"Which  means  that  you  haven't  the  strength  to 
hurt  yourself, "  she  responded,  looking  at  him  with  her 
heart  in  her  eyes.  "For  are  n't  you  and  I  one?" 

Her  words  rang  uncomfortably  in  his  ears.  Was 
that  the  truth,  spoken  so  innocently,  so  unwittingly? 
Had  he  been  afraid  of  hurting  himself,  not  her?  Had 
he  cared  all  the  time  only  for  the  Ego  which  had  always 
ruled  his  life? 

Hesper  moved  to  the  parapet.  The  evening  glow 
encircled  her,  enhaloed  her,  Ivors  thought  with  a 
surge  of  passionate  adoration. 

"In  the  things  that  matter  I  hope  you  would  have 
the  strength  to  hurt  me  if  necessary,"  she  said,  turn- 
ing her  head.  "Nothing  could  hurt  me  so  much  as 
any  failure  in  you. " 


35°         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

"Hesper,  I  am  full  of  flaws.  For  God's  sake  don't 
put  me  on  a  pedestal.  Any  height  makes  me  giddy. 
I  'd  tumble  at  once,  and  you  'd  find  your  poor  clay  idol 
in  pieces  at  your  feet.  I  'm  a  bundle  of  faults  and 
failings  tied  together  with  the  golden  thread  of  my 
love  for  you.  It 's  the  one  good  thing  about  me,  if 
indeed,  there  is  any  virtue  in  loving  '  the  highest  when 
we  see  it. ' ' 

He  knelt  beside  her  and  put  his  arms  round  her. 

"How  you  exaggerate!"  she  said  fondly. 

"Lord  knows  I  don't,"  he  answered  with  a  rueful 
sigh.  Then  his  mood  changed  suddenly.  He  sprang 
up  and  went  to  the  divan. 

"After  all,  why  should  I  wait  until  to-night  to 
serenade  you,  my  star?"  he  cried,  snatching  up  the 
lute  and  tuning  it. 

After  a  soft  thrumming  at  the  strings  he  broke  into 
a  curious  melody,  and  then  into  song.  So  few  were 
the  notes  of  the  song  that  it  almost  seemed  as  if  the 
words  accompanied  the  music,  but  the  effect  was 
oddly  passionate  and  pleading. 

"My  heart, 
I  would  have  sold  it 
Had  it  not  been  full  of  thee! 

"Mine  eyes, 

I  would  have  blinded  them, 
Had  they  not  been  illumined  by  the  radiance  of  thy  face! 

"My  soul, 

I  would  have  burned  it 
As  a  perfume  at  thy  feet 
Had  it  not  been  the  breath  that  exhaled  from  thy  lips!" 

All  the  romance,  all  the  glamour  of  Hesper's  life 
were  concentrated  in  that  thin,  alert  figure  poised  on 


Geziret-El-Saada  351 

the  edge  of  the  divan,  plucking  the  heart  out  of  the 
lute,  and  looking  at  her  the  while  with  eyes  that 
seemed  to  burn,  so  intense  was  the  fire  of  their  gaze. 
When  the  song  ended  she  ran  to  him,  and  knelt  by  his 
side. 

"You  love  me  like  this?"  she  cried,  in  a  choked 
voice,  answering  his  eyes  rather  than  his  words. 
"Ingram!  My  husband!  What  have  I  done  to 
deserve  it?" 

The  lute  fell  with  a  little  clatter  to  the  floor  where 
it  lay  harmoniously  on  the  dull  rose  and  mauve  and 
yellow  of  the  rug.  Ivors's  lips  twisted  into  a  mirthless 
smile  over  her  bent  head,  for  he  knew  that  one  of  the 
seeds  of  his  punishment  was  coming  into  flower,  and 
that  the  fruit  thereof  would  be  exceeding  bitter. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  GOLDEN   BALL 

AS  the  weather  grew  cooler  and  the  desert  air 
wafted  draughts  of  exhilaration  through  As- 
suan,  the  two  on  the  island  made  many  excursions. 

They  plunged  in  search  of  colour  into  the  narrow 
covered  bazaars,  and  found  it  in  the  gay  barbarity  of 
the  Sudanese  bead  and  leather  chains,  the  silver  and 
ivory  amulets,  the  straw  fans  and  baskets  in  rich  tones 
of  orange,  green,  and  magenta;  in  the  gourds  covered 
with  nets  of  blue  beads;  and  in  the  vegetable  bazaar 
with  its  medley  of  oranges,  lemons,  tiny  green  limes, 
strings  of  dried  pods,  and  rough  earthenware  bowls 
full  of  yellow  millet,  orange  lentils,  or  dull  green  peas. 

Here  was  a  stall  of  weapons  presided  over  by  a 
dark-eyed,  white-bearded  Arab,  who  proudly  wore  the 
green  turban,  sign  that  he  had  made  the  pilgrimage 
to  Mecca.  A  sense  of  fitness  linked  him  with  his 
wares — swords  whose  scabbards  of  leather,  ivory,  or 
dull  gold  were  inlaid  and  encrusted  with  garnets  and 
turquoises,  and  knives  with  handles  of  carved  wood  or 
curving  horn,  whose  sheaths  of  black  crocodile,  grey 
lizard-skin,  or  flame-coloured  leather  were  ornamented 
with  bits  of  silver,  ivory,  or  copper. 

By  his  side  a  man  in  a  dull  blue  robe,  with  a  tray  of 
brass  and  copper  seals,  poured  pale  amber  tea  into 

352 


The  Golden  Ball  353 

tiny  handleless  cups,  one  of  which  he  presented  to  the 
Mecca  pilgrim. 

Wild-eyed  Bisharin  stalked  through  the  dim  covered 
ways,  bringing,  with  their  shaggy  hair  pierced  with 
silver  or  ivory  pins,  their  rough  white  robes,  and 
the  dagger  or  amulet  fastened  to  their  bare  brown 
arms,  a  sense  of  desert  wildness  into  this  brilliant 
semi-civilisation. 

Ivors  and  Hesper  bargained  and  bought  with  the 
zest  of  children.  He  presented  her  with  a  string  of 
turquoises,  and  a  gay  blue,  green,  and  white  "  Madama 
Nubia"  as  the  Arabs  call  the  bead,  shell,  and  leather 
apron  which  comprises  the  simple  costume  of  the 
Sudanese  women;  and  they  gave  each  other  amulets, 
little  rolls  of  the  Koran,  hers  encased  in  rose-red  and 
turquoise  leather,  his  more  sombrely  enclosed  in  brown 
and  red.  They  were  hung  on  long  fawn  leather  chains, 
and  when  Ivors  went  to  put  Hesper's  round  her  neck 
he  found  that  it  had  become  so  entangled  with  his 
that  he  could  not  disengage  it. 

The  Arab  who  sold  them  came  forward  with  a  smile. 

"Let  me  try,  o  ef&ndi,"  he  said.  His  slim  brown 
fingers  pushed  and  patted  and  finally  disentangled 
the  two  chains.  "A  little  patience,  that  is  all.  Every 
knot  has  an  unraveller  in  Allah." 

Ivors  thanked  the  man  and  drew  away,  but  the 
words  lingered.  Would  Allah  unravel  his  knot,  he 
wondered,  the  tangled  knot  of  his  own  deliberate 
tying?  The  question  pursued  him  through  the  richly 
coloured  twilight  of  the  bazaars,  and  pierced  through 
the  eager  chaffering  of  the  merchants,  until,  with  a 
fatalism  born  of  the  East,  he  set  it  aside  to  await  its 
answer  at  the  appointed  time. 
33 


354         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

They  spent  long  delightful  hours  in  the  felukeh, 
sailing  beneath  the  green  slopes  of  Elephantine  Island, 
and  skirting  the  golden  hills  crowned  with  the  ruined 
tomb  of  a  sheikh,  or  breasting  the  current  among  the 
granite  islands,  watching  the  brown-robed  Nubian 
women  come  down  to  the  water's  edge  with  kerosene 
tins  poised  on  their  heads  with  all  the  grace  with  which 
their  blue-robed  sisters  of  the  Thebaid  bore  their  grey- 
green  water-jars.  Here  little  children,  wild  as  hares, 
would  peer  and  chatter  among  the  rocks,  half-naked, 
but  always  with  an  amulet  of  silver  or  copper  to  glint 
away  misfortune. 

Once  they  went  to  Philae — Philae  the  beautiful,  the 
moribund — with  the  crested  loveliness  of  a  colonnade 
lifting  its  head  above  the  water  which  had  drowned 
her  palms  and  acacias,  and  the  little  kiosk  richly 
pillared  and  square  to  the  blue.  The  depth  of  the  sky 
was  reflected  in  the  water  on  which  the  sun  shone  with 
dazzling  brilliance,  and  the  calm  beauty  of  the  ruined 
temple  was  emphasised  by  the  wild  savagery  of  its 
surroundings,  the  reddish-purple  islands,  and  the  fiery 
golden-yellow  of  the  hills. 

The  sight  depressed  them,  despite  its  barbaric 
contrast.  Titans  at  play  might  have  tumbled 
together  those  volcanic-looking  cairns,  which  loomed 
terrifying,  almost  overwhelming,  not  because  of  their 
grandeur,  but  because  of  some  sense  of  the  abnormal, 
of  the  primeval  which  they  produced. 

As  the  winter  progressed  their  solitude  cL  deux 
became  invaded.  Visits  from  their  acquaintances 
among  the  residents  were  not  to  be  avoided,  but  they 
were  discouraged,  and  the  outer  world  was  carefully 
excluded,  to  the  hum  of  much  gossip. 


The  Golden  Ball  355 

Ivors  was  insane,  diseased,  profligate;  he  was 
living  with  a  famous  Russian  dancer,  a  divorcee,  had  a 
harim  full  of  houris,  whose  slim,  naked  forms  might  be 
seen  flitting  through  the  oleanders.  No  theory  was 
too  wild,  too  lurid,  to  be  believed,  but  gradually,  as 
nothing  startling  occurred  to  fan  the  blaze,  and  as 
Hesper  and  Ivors  appeared  occasionally  on  the  main- 
land, interest  in  El-Sadda  died  out,  and  the  usual 
round  of  winter  excitements  took  its  place. 

It  was  a  favourite  amusement  with  visitors  to  sail 
round  the  island,  and  day  by  day  gaily-painted 
felukehs  belonging  to  the  hotels  hovered  about  it  like 
butterflies,  but  their  occupants  saw  little  besides  the 
palms  and  eucalyptus-trees  and  a  hedge  of  flaming 
hibiscus  which  guarded  one  end  of  the  island;  while 
the  only  living  creatures  who  presented  themselves  to 
their  gaze  were  Mahmud,  the  blue-clad  urchin  who 
lay  along  the  rough  shaft  of  the  sakiyeh,  and  the  fawn 
cow  which  turned  its  creaking,  purring  wheel  while 
the  long  chain  of  dripping  red  pots  dipped  into  the 
well  beneath. 

The  gazelles  followed  Hesper  everywhere,  pattering 
through  the  big  cool  rooms  and  the  pillared  verandah 
on  tiny  polished  hoofs ;  and  the  days  drifted  by.  Ivors 
painted,  and  Hesper  read,  worked,  and  made  music. 

The  service  of  the  house  was  silent-footed  and  unob- 
trusive, and  there  was  nothing  external  to  mar  the 
harmony. 

Ivors  was  trying  portraits — the  Hesper  he  knew  and 
the  Ingram  she  knew.  Inspiration  sped  his  brush, 
with  the  result  that  the  love-illumined  woman  looked 
from  one  canvas,  while  the  whole  appeal  of  the  man's 
soul  spoke  through  the  brown  eyes  in  the  other. 


356         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

He  was  thinner  than  ever,  and  his  cough  troubled 
him.  To  Hesper's  anxiety  he  made  impatient  answer 
that  he  always  coughed  a  little  in  the  winter,  and  that 
there  was  no  need  to  fuss.  His  secret  wore  upon  him 
daily  and  fretted  his  patience  to  a  thread.  His  clear 
vision  of  Hesper's  character  made  it  imperative  that 
he  should  tell  her  if  he  wished  to  snatch  at  his  lost 
self-respect  or  to  retain  a  shadow  of  hers,  but  the  words 
choked  him.  He  could  not  force  them  to  his  lips. 
His  fastidiousness  revolted  from  the  blackness  of  his 
own  deceit,  but  his  whole  soul  shrank  from  the  thought 
of  meeting  the  look  in  her  eyes  when  she  knew. 

Sometimes  the  calm  serenity  of  her  happiness 
almost  irritated  him.  How  could  she  be  so  happy 
when  he  was  suffering  the  tortures  of  the  damned? 
Then  in  an  agony  of  reaction  he  would  kiss  her  feet 
in  spirit. 

At  other  times  he  fancied  coldness,  a  slight  with- 
drawal on  her  part,  and  tormented  himself  with 
wondering  if  she  suspected  anything,  if  she  were 
changing  towards  him,  if  he  were  losing  her  love? 
Then  would  follow  fierce  outbursts  of  affection,  pas- 
sionate demands,  incessant  claims  which  puzzled 
Hesper  and  made  her  feel  a  faint  sense  of  apprehension. 

Ivors's  gusts  of  petulance,  his  fitfulness,  his  alterna- 
tions of  mood  pricked  her  to  wonder,  but  she  attri- 
buted them  chiefly  to  his  variations  of  health.  Often 
the  passage  which  had  offended  her  in  Gerda's  letter 
recurred  to  her  mind. 

"Mammy  was  fearfully  afraid  that  I  should  fall  in 
love  with  Mr.  Ivors,  but  indeed  there  was  never  any 
fear  of  that.  I  like  a  man  to  be  all  a  man,  and  not 
partly  a  woman,  and  there  is  a  good  deal  of  femininity 


The  Golden  Ball  357 

about  Mr.  Ivors.  I  don't  mean  anything  nasty.  I 
mean  the  nice  kind,  which  some  women  love  in  a  man, 
but  I  don't." 

This  crude  expression  of  a  truth  had  hitherto  jarred 
on  Hesper;  but  in  these  days  she  was  aware  of  its 
reality. 

"There  is  more  of  the  child  than  the  woman  in 
him,"  she  told  herself,  "and  it  is  the  child  who  needs 
me  most. " 

She  was  infinitely  patient  with  him,  and  infinitely 
responsive.  She  called  upon  all  her  stores  of  loving 
and  giving  to  supply  his  want,  and  she  felt  amply 
rewarded  when  one  day  he  told  her  that  he  had  written 
to  Hildred.  She  lifted  brows  of  delicate  inquiry, 
and  thought  she  read  the  answer  she  desired  in  his 
smile.  The  warm  kiss  she  gave  him  told  him  so,  and 
added  another  flame  to  his  torment,  which  increased 
as  he  heard  her  go  singing  softly  about  the  house  for 
the  rest  of  the  day. 

He  let  opportunity  after  opportunity  slip  by,  and 
the  days  were  prodigal  of  them.  Hesper  did  not  like 
to  worry  him  with  questions,  of  which  he  was  always 
impatient,  but  at  times  she  felt  as  if  some  barrier  had 
arisen  between  them — a  barrier  of  glass,  as  it  were, 
which  was  tangible,  yet  through  which  she  could  see. 

Once  she  asked  him  if  he  were  tired  of  El-Saada,  if 
he  would  like  to  go  anywhere  else. 

"Tired  of  this  Paradise?"  he  answered.  "No, 
beloved.  Besides,  wherever  we  went  I  should  take 
myself  with  me.  Some  wise  man  said  once  that 
'always  in  the  sunshine  is  a  black  spot :  the  shadow  of 
ourselves.'  That  is  what  ails  me." 


358         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

"Are  you  sure?"  she  was  insistent  for  once.  "You 
would  tell  me,  would  n't  you,  if  anything  were  really 
amiss?" 

She  put  her  hands  on  his  shoulders.  Her  eyes  were 
very  blue,  very  sweet,  very  pleading.  "  You  would  n't 
keep  anything  from  your  own  wife,  would  you, 
Ingram?" 

"My  own  wife!  Good  God!"  he  cried,  taking  her 
hands  in  his.  How  could  he  kill  that  look,  that 
sublime  faith  and  trust  in  him?  How  could  he  tell 
her  that  she,  his  soul's  comrade,  his  ideal  woman,  was 
no  wife  at  all?  How  could  he  let  her  know  what  he 
had  dared  to  make  her  in  the  eyes  of  the  world? 

He  swallowed  a  lump  in  his  throat  that  seemed  to 
choke  him. 

"  You  've  made  a  sorry  bargain,  Hesper  Belhasard, " 
he  said  huskily. 

"Don't  be  nonsensical!" 

"  They  're  the  truest  words  I  ever  spoke.  You  went 
through  the  wood  and  picked  up  the  crooked  stick 
when  you  took  me, "  he  said,  gazing  hungrily  at  her. 

"There  's  nothing  crooked  about  you,  dearest,"  she 
breathed  happily. 

How  could  he  shatter  this  image,  this  phantasm  of 
what  he  might  have  been?  Oh,  if  he  had  but  met 
her  before  Fate  had  bound  him  in  fetters !  He  could 
have  become  the  man  of  her  dreams.  She  could  have 
taken  him  by  the  hand  and  led  him  with  her  to  the 
Kingdom  of  Heaven.  But  now  .  .  .  now.  .  .  . 
He  groaned  aloud. 

"Ingram!     What  is  it?    Are  you  ill?" 

"  No,  nothing.  Only  a  twinge, "  he  answered,  turn- 
ing his  head  away. 


The  Golden  Ball  359 

"Where?  Is  it  your  heart?  Oh,  darling,  I  wish 
you  would  see  Dr.  Ayrton. " 

"You  should  know  best  about  my  heart.  You 
have  it."  He  joked  with  set  lips.  "No,  dear  fuss, 
my  heart  is  as  sound  as  a  bell. " 

"What  is  it,  then?  You  don't  know  how  you 
frighten  me." 

"Don't  be  a  goose.  Indigestion,  old  age,  con- 
science— what  you  will."  He  took  up  the  lute,  and 
plucked  at  it  with  fingers  that  trembled.  He  seemed 
to  himself  to  have  shrunk  to  the  meanest  dimensions, 
a  shivering  creature  whose  shrivelled  soul  still  had 
power  to  feel  and  to  mock  at  its  miserable  owner. 

After  another  period  of  feverish  doubt  which  was 
followed  by  the  usual  reaction  of  passionate  need,  of 
frantic  demands  on  Hesper's  love,  Opportunity,  the 
juggler,  offered  him  the  golden  ball  again  instead  of 
the  bubble,  but  once  more  he  thrust  it  aside. 

"I  fancied  that  you  had  changed  to  me,"  he  said. 
He  was  lying  on  the  divan  in  the  verandah,  and  Hesper 
knelt  beside  him. 

Isis,  Horus,  Thout,  and  Hathor  looked  down  from 
the  tenting  in  gay  splashes  of  colour.  Outside  the 
verandah  a  pepper-tree  raised  feathery  foliage  against 
the  blue,  and  in  its  branches  the  bulbuls  chirped  and 
twittered.  From  the  distance  came  the  sleepy  purr 
of  the  sakiyeh,  and  through  the  faint  insistence  of 
sounds  rose  the  rush  and  swirl  of  the  Nile.  The  air 
was  warm  and  heavy  with  the  perfume  of  the  white- 
starred  Egyptian  jasmine,  which  clambered  over  the 
end  of  the  verandah,  flinging  great  scented  trails 
across  the  low  cream  parapet. 

"How  could  you  fancy  such  folly?"  she  asked, 


360        The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

noting  with  a  pang  how  thin  were  the  temples  from 
which  she  stroked  back  his  hair.  "Never,  never 
dream  of  such  a  thing  again.  How  could  I  change  to 
you,  my  very  dearest,  to  you  who  have  filled  my  life 
with  happiness,  unless  to  love  you  more,  if  that  were 
possible?  Why  do  you  worry  yourself  with  these 
nightmares?  It  's  so  bad  for  you,  and  I  believe  it 
makes  your  cough  worse." 

"Oh,  don't  fuss,"  he  said  irritably.  Then  in  swift 
remorse:  "Hesper,  you're  an  angel  and  I'm  very 
much  the  other  thing.  I  'd  try  the  patience  of  any 
saint  but  you.  I  put  a  daily  strain  on  you " 

"You  put  it  on  yourself,  too,  Ingram,  by  these 
foolish  doubts. " 

"I  don't  know  how  you  bear  with  me.  Some  day 
you  '11  get  tired  of  the  job,  and  leave  me  to  my  own 
devices." 

"Ingram,  don't!"  she  cried,  wounded. 

"What?  You  wouldn't?  Let  me  see  your  face. 
You  would  n't  desert  me  whatever  I  did.  You  'd 
stick  to  me  through  thick  and  thin?  You  'd  never 
leave  me?" 

Hesper  answered  with  trembling  lips. 

"You  hurt  me  more  by  these  doubts  than — "  she 
stopped;  she  could  not  control  her  voice. 

He  caught  her  to  him  and  kissed  her  passionately, 
her  eyes,  her  hair,  her  lips;  but  what  seemed  to  her 
the  ardour  of  his  first  love  was  fervour  tinged  with  the 
bitterness  of  despair.  In  spite  of  her  answer  he  could 
not  cling  to  it  as  he  would,  for  he  knew  that  she  had 
not  the  faintest  knowledge  of  the  real  meaning  that 
underlay  his  questions.  Dare  he  put  this  great  love 
to  such  a  test?  He  knew  that  the  best  of  women 


The  Golden  Ball  361 

often  judge  harshly,  narrowly,  that  out  of  the  white- 
ness of  their  own  purity  they  have  no  pity  for  the 
soiled  raiment  of  others  less  fortunate.  Should  he  tell 
her  now  and  end  for  ever  this  doubt  which  consumed 
him? 

Her  soft  voice  was  murmuring  something  in  his  ear. 
.  .  .  What  divine  folly  was  it  uttering? 

"If  there  is  anything  in  me  which  jars  upon  you 
in  any  way,  any  little  trick  of  speech,  or  manner,  or 
gesture,  I  would  far  rather  that  you  told  me  of  it  than 
that  you  remained  silent  for  fear  of  hurting  me,  and 
continued  to  let  it  irritate  you." 

"  You  irritate  me?"  he  cried,  with  a  depth  of 
humility  in  his  tone.  "Lord,  will  men  and  women 
ever  really  understand  each  other?"  Then,  with  a 
change  of  key:  "Don't  let  your  goose's  feathers  grow 
into  angel's  wings,  Hesper  Belhasard,  unless  they 
would  be  large  enough  to  cover  me  too!" 


CHAPTER  VII 

A  VOICE  CRYING   IN  THE  WILDERNESS 

AFTER  this  outburst  followed  a  period  of  calm. 
Ivors  was  in  the  position  of  a  man  who  is  con- 
demned to  death,  but  who  has  to  fix  the  day  for  his 
own  execution.  Daily  it  was  borne  in  upon  him  that 
if  he  were  ever  to  know  peace  again  he  must  tell 
Hesper  what  he  had  done,  that  even  the  worst  would 
be  easier  to  bear  than  this  constant  gnawing  terror; 
and  the  decision  brought  with  it  a  certain  sense  of 
relief.  That  she  should  hear  the  truth  from  other 
lips  than  his  would  doubly  deepen  his  guilt;  the  cold, 
bleak,  naked  truth  as  others  would  tell  it,  shivering 
without  even  a  rag  of  his  love  to  cover  it.  No,  he 
must  tell  her  himself  in  the  dust  on  his  knees  at  her 
feet.  Perhaps  she  would  forgive  him,  or  at  least  not 
condemn  him  too  harshly  because  he  had  loved  her 
so  much. 

Lightened  of  so  much  of  his  burden  he  became 
almost  his  old  insouciant  self  again.  He  painted 
wonderful  splashes  of  colour,  rainbow-tinted  mist,  and 
opaline  hazes.  Too  impatient  to  tame  the  birds,  as 
Hesper  did,  he  teased  and  played  with  the  gazelles, 
tying  silver  bells  round  their  necks  and  driving  them, 
a  fairy  team,  through  the  garden.  He  made  love  to 

362 


A  Voice  Crying  in  the  Wilderness  363 

Hesper,  wooing  her  with  roses,  pomegranates,  and 
sprays  of  jasmine,  crowning  her  with  the  large  starry 
blossoms  and  calling  her  his  "branch  of  Evin's  apple- 
tree,  with  twigs  of  white  silver  and  buds  of  crystal 
with  blossoms." 

"If  I  had  a  harp  of  apple  wood  I  could  enchant 
you,"  she  said,  falling  in  with  his  mood.  "There  is 
great  magic  in  a  harp  made  of  apple  wood. " 

"You  don't  need  any  harp.  It  is  I  who  fain  would 
woo  you  with  my  lute." 

He  sang  many  love-songs  to  her  in  those  days, 
Arabic,  Persian,  Spanish,  but  always  to  the  lute, 
for  he  said  that  his  voice  was  too  husky  for  the  piano. 

The  reaction  from  those  weeks  of  torment  was 
delicious.  Feeling  almost  happy  he  felt  almost  good ; 
the  impulse  of  confession  seemed  to  bring  its  own 
absolution.  "Every  knot  has  an  unraveller  in  Allah.'" 

Still,  bitter  qualms  shook  him  as  to  what  she  would 
say,  how  she  would  look,  when  he  told  her.  The 
thought  of  her  eyes  shrinking  from  his  hurt  him  like 
a  blow.  It  seemed  like  a  murder  to  kill  her  faith  in 
him,  but  he  would  abase  himself  before  her,  he  would 
kneel  so  low  in  humiliation  that  for  very  pity  she 
could  not  leave  him  in  the  dust. 

He  put  off  the  evil  day  from  week  to  week,  but  like 
the  condemned  man  he  knew  that  he  could  not  put  it 
off  for  ever.  A  period  was  set  to  his  indecision.  The 
day  should  be  appointed ;  let  Fate  decide  the  hour. 

He  would  have  one  more  perfect  day,  and  then 

"Hesper  Belhasard,  what  is  your  favourite  day  in 
the  week?"  he  asked  her  suddenly. 

"Thursday,"  she  replied,  looking  up  with  a  smile, 
"because  that  is  the  day  I  first  met  you." 


364         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

"Then  on  Thursday  I  am  going  to  take  you  for  an 
excursion,  probably  the  last  for  the  season,  as  the 
weather  is  growing  warm  again."  He  savoured  the 
irony  of  his  simple  statement.  Perhaps  after  that 
day  Hesper  would  be  his  comrade  no  more.  Perhaps 
she  would  cast  him  adrift  to  be  blown  again  like  a  leaf 
on  the  winds  of  chance.  Well  ...  if  she  did  .  .  . 
there  were  ways  of  ending  it  all.  He  could  not  face 
the  desert  of  life  if  what  meant  the  greatest  and  best 
of  it  were  torn  from  him  any  more  than  he  could 
continue  to  breathe  if  his  living  heart  were  cut  from 
his  living  body.  It  would  be  the  same  in  a  spiritual 
sense,  with  the  bitterness  of  bodily  separation  added. 

"Where  are  we  going  to,  Ingram?" 

"Wait  and  see,  Madama." 

"Are  we  to  go  by  boat,  camel,  donkey,  or  sand- 
cart?" 

"Why  this  anxiety?" 

"  So  that  I  shall  know  what  to  wear. " 

"Wear  your  Madama  Nubia." 

"The  sun  is  too  hot!" 

"Put  on  one  of  your  white  frocks,  then,  and  my 
chain  of  turquoises  to  make  your  eyes  look  blue. 
When  you  wear  those  your  eyes  always  reflect  the 
love-colour." 

"Don't  they  do  that  in  any  case?"  she  asked, 
coaxingly. 

In  spite  of  his  jesting  fear  tinged  every  thought, 
every  movement,  the  unadmitted  fear  of  losing  her. 
He  determined  to  taste  the  sweetness  of  this  last  day 
to  the  full,  but  fear  dropped  doubt  into  the  cup. 

Thursday  dawned,  and  Ivors's  waking  thought 
drove  sleep  away. 


A  Voice  Crying  in  the  Wilderness  365 

"To-morrow  I  must  tell  her.  To-morrow,  to-mor- 
row, to-morrow." 

The  words  rang  in  his  ears  like  a  knell.  Through 
the  early  morning  he  watched  her,  hanging  on  her 
words,  forestalling  her  desires,  realising  with  each  fleet- 
ing moment  more  and  more  of  what  she  was  to  him. 

Hesper's  anxieties  were  lulled  to  rest.  She  was 
frankly  happy  at  the  thought  of  the  long  golden  day 
they  were  to  spend  together.  She  did  not  care  where 
they  went,  what  they  did,  so  long  as  Ingram  was  with 
her,  his  old  whimsical  self.  His  new  watchful  wist- 
fulness  escaped  her,  or  rather  melted  into  his  general 
charm. 

They  started  early,  as  the  first  part  of  their  journey 
was  by  train.  When  they  alighted  at  a  little  wayside 
station  Moussa  awaited  them  with  donkeys  and  a  flat 
reed  basket. 

Hesper's  steed  was  large  and  grey ;  his  tail  and  mane 
were  dyed  orange  with  henna,  and  round  his  neck  he 
bore  chains  of  gilt  coins  and  blue  and  white  beads 
which  jingled  pleasantly  as  he  went. 

Ivors's  black  donkey  was  gay  with  scarlet  and  yellow 
saddlecloth  and  red-humped  native  saddle,  and  both 
animals  had  neat  geometrical  patterns  clipped  on  their 
hind  legs.  Moussa's  beast  fell  behind  while  its  rider 
conversed  amiably  with  the  blue-girt  donkey-boys, 
who  sometimes  sprang  forward  with  a  great  show  of 
energy  to  urge  their  steeds  onward  with  clucks  and 
grunts  and  harsh  cries. 

The  air  was  balmy  and  delicious;  a  faint  pearly 
haze  softened  the  intense  blueness  of  the  sky,  and 
shimmered  dreamily  on  the  Nile,  by  whose  bank  the 
path  led  for  a  time.  Passing  through  the  hard-beaten 


366         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

mud  streets  of  a  village  (a-jostle  with  flap-eared  goats, 
long-legged  hens,  peeping  children,  and  freely-moving 
women) ,  whose  pungent  atmosphere  surrounded  them 
almost  tangibly,  it  was  a  relief  to  come  upon  the  half- 
empty  track  by  the  broad  spaces  of  the  river;  to  see 
the  darting  black  and  white  kingfishers,  or  the  metallic 
flash  of  a  blue  one  up  a  side  canal ;  to  hear  the  whisper 
of  the  tall  purple-stemmed  sugar-cane,  or  savour  the 
scent  of  mimosa  blown  upon  a  warm  morning  wind. 

On  sandy  islets  storks  and  herons  brooded,  or  brown 
and  white  mottled  vultures  picked  at  a  heap  of  tum- 
bled bones  where  the  river  had  taken  toll  of  sheep  or 
goat. 

Fishermen  waded  along  the  foreshore,  their  nets, 
silken-fine,  coiled  in  loops  about  their  wrists.  A  deft 
touch  of  sinewy  fingers,  a  rhythmic  movement  of 
bronze  arms,  and  out  upon  the  air  they  flew  like  wisps 
of  pale  brown  mist,  settling  for  an  instant  in  wide  rings 
upon  the  surface  before  they  sank  out  of  sight  beneath 
the  water. 

Then  the  track  turned  through  another  palm- 
girdled  village,  and  on  to  the  edge  of  cultivation  where 
the  tawny  desert  stretched  in  wrinkled  folds  to  the 
foot  of  the  Arabian  Hills. 

The  hollows  in  the  sand  were  grey  and  lavender, 
and  an  occasional  rock  or  elevation  cast  a  shadow  that 
had  a  hyacinth  bloom. 

The  great  silence  brought  a  sense  of  peace  to  Ivors's 
turbulent  heart.  He  turned  to  Hesper  as  they  rode 
across  the  noiseless  sand. 

'"Unborn  To-morrow  and  dead  Yesterday; 
Why  fret  about  them  if  To-day  be  sweet,1" 

he  said,  flinging  a  challenge  to  Fate. 


A  Voice  Crying  in  the  Wilderness  367 

"To-day  is  sweet,"  answered  Hesper,  as  she  had 
done  once  so  long  ago. 

"  Too  sweet  to  last. " 

"Then  there  's  to-morrow." 

"To-morrow!    We  won't  think  about  to-morrow." 

"Let 's  enjoy  to-day." 

"Are  you  enjoying  it,  Hesper  Belhasard?" 

"Oh,  so  much.  Inexpressibly,  my  dearest.  I  must 
invent  a  new  vocabulary." 

Why  did  the  trivial  words  dart  javelin  stings  from 
the  past?  The  shadow  of  himself,  no  longer  merely  a 
black  spot,  threatened  to  blot  out  the  sunshine  of 
to-day.  He  strove  with  it.  To-day  was  his,  his  last 
day.  What  to-morrow  might  mean  for  Hesper  he  did 
not  try  to  surmise.  There  were  abysses  into  which  he 
dared  not  peer.  To  him  its  issues  were  grave  beyond 
conjecture.  After  to-day  those  eyes  of  hers,  which 
for  him  held  all  the  sweetness  of  the  world,  and  all 
love's  sorrow  as  well  as  love's  laughter,  might  look  at 
him  with  hatred  as  his  wife's  had  done  on  that  long- 
banished  day,  which  being  dead  yet  lived,  and  being 
past  was  ever  present. 

No,  he  could  not  picture  hatred  in  Hesper's  eyes. 
Reproach  perhaps,  the  wounded  gaze  of  one  mortally 
hurt  by  the  best-beloved — bah!  Why  should  these 
thoughts  buzz  round  him  like  a  cloud  of  flies  and  spoil 
his  last  good  moments?  Once  more  he  strove  to 
banish  them. 

Far  behind  them  stretched  the  Nile- valley,  a  blur  of 
green  in  every  imaginable  shade  from  vivid  emerald 
to  olive-grey,  threaded  through  by  the  silver  ribbon  of 
the  river ;  before  them  rose  amber  slopes  of  sand  to  the 
hills  that  loomed  sheer  above  them  in  fawn  and  yellow 


368         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

crags  with  deep  rusty  crevices.  A  cleft  in  the  heights 
opened  before  them  showing  a  narrow  desolate  valley 
of  rocks  and  sand,  with  a  track  which  bent  towards  the 
right.  Near  the  top  of  a  bluff  which  was  shaped  like  a 
crouching  lion  the  tawny  hillside  seemed  to  be  pierced 
with  dark  blue  hollows. 

Ivors  pointed  with  his  stick. 

"  It  is  there  we  are  going,  beloved.  It  is  a  deserted 
Christian  hermitage." 

"Up  there?  Then  we  shall  have  to  fly,"  answered 
Hesper,  smiling  happily. 

"No  need  to  use  your  wings  yet.  There  is  a  path, 
but  it  zigzags  steeply  up  the  hill. " 

"  I  am  entirely  in  your  hands.  Whither  thou  goest 
I  will  go." 

His  heart  leaped  absurdly.     "Hesper!" 

"Why  should  it  be  such  a  constant  surprise  to  you 
to  find  that  I  love  you?"  she  asked  rather  wistfully. 

"  Because  I  deserve  it  so  little,"  he  replied,  with  bent 
head. 

The  slope  grew  steeper,  and  the  sun  beat  more 
fiercely.  The  winding  of  the  valley  cut  them  off  from 
cultivation  and  civilisation.  Burnt-looking  stones 
lay  scattered  on  the  sand,  and  a  high  spur  of  rock 
cast  a  sharp  black  shadow  across  the  path  at  a  bend. 

Suddenly  from  behind  it  stepped  an  odd  figure, 
hunchbacked,  bearded,  gnome-like,  whose  brown, 
seamed  face  and  white  rolled  turban  made  it  appear  as 
if  the  spirit  of  one  of  the  burnt  distorted  stones  had 
unexpectedly  taken  shape  and  stood  before  them.  A 
bunch  of  heavy  keys  dangled  from  his  girdle  and  an 
old-fashioned,  long-barrelled  musket  over  his  shoulder 
added  a  suggestion  of  lawlessness  that  was  as  much  one 


A  Voice  Crying  in  the  Wilderness  369 

with  the  barren  valley  and  the  desert  hills  as  the  kite 
which  wheeled,  solitary,  in  the  blue  overhead. 

"I  am  the  Keeper  of  the  Caves,"  he  announced 
in  guttural  Arabic.  "Does  his  excellency  wish  to  see 
them?" 

Ivors  answered  him  in  the  same  tongue  and  the 
man  responded  courteously,  looking  the  while  with 
bold  admiration  at  Hesper.  Then  he  turned  and  bade 
them  follow  him.  Despite  his  deformity  he  seemed  to 
be  possessed  of  great  strength  and  agility  as  he  swung 
before  them  with  free  gait  up  the  narrow  pathway  to 
the  plateau  in  front  of  the  hermitage. 

It  was  a  strange  primitive  place,  this  deserted  sanc- 
tuary, where  tempest-torn  men  had  fled  from  the 
temptations  and  distractions  of  the  outer  world  to 
seek  peace  and  to  find  their  own  souls. 

The  hot  sun  seemed  to  invoke  the  spirit  of  oblivion 
which  brooded  over  the  place.  There  was  no  sign  of 
life  beyond  their  own  incongruous  presence;  no  least 
green  thing  peeped  from  the  burning  rock,  no  lizard 
darted  across  the  glistening  sand,  no  bird  hopped  or 
twittered.  Even  the  kite  had  vanished  from  the 
empty  sky.  Forgotten  by  time,  deserted  by  humanity 
a  heavy  silence  encircled  the  place.  Their  very  foot- 
falls were  lost  in  the  thick  sand. 

From  a  long  vaulted  corridor  hollowed  out  of  the 
living  hillside  opened  a  series  of  small  rock-hewn  cells 
whose  tawny  walls  bore  the  Coptic  symbol  of  the 
Cross.  One  or  two  of  them  had  wooden  doors  which 
the  Keeper  of  the  Caves  flung  wide,  disclosing  crude 
frescoes  of  saints  and  martyrs,  flame-racked  or  arrow- 
stung. 

In  the  centre  of  the  corridor  was  a  door  that  was 
24 


370         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

higher  and  more  ornate  than  the  others.  It  was 
roughly  carved  and  was  clamped  and  ornamented 
with  pierced  bands  of  copper,  green  with  age. 

"  Now  I  will  show  you  the  mosque  of  the  Christians, 
o  efdndi,"  he  said,  inserting  a  wrought-copper  key 
into  the  ancient  lock. 

Then,  to  the  sound  of  a  creak  that  was  like  the 
heavy  sigh  of  eld,  he  opened  to  them  a  dim  vaulted 
rock-chapel,  its  walls  and  ceilings  covered  with  faded 
paintings.  In  the  half-light  the  effect  was  surprisingly 
beautiful.  Ivors  thought  of  the  sumptuously  dight 
chapels  of  kings,  of  the  brilliant  Sainte  Chapelle,  of  the 
lovely  Spanish  Chapel  at  Florence,  and  felt  the  same 
sense  of  rich  yet  subdued  beauty  and  colour  in  the 
very  atmosphere  of  this  little  vaulted  hollow. 

Over  the  old  altar  shone  Christ  surrounded  by 
adoring  angels.  The  figures  were  stiff,  the  attitudes 
primitive  and  awkward,  yet  through  it  all  breathed 
an  essence  of  adoration  which  made  one  lose  sense  of 
its  mere  artistic  value.  The  spirit  of  art  was  there 
mingled  with  the  spirit  of  prayer,  shining  like  a  jewel 
in  the  wilderness. 

Ivors's  beauty-loving  nature  was  captivated.  He 
felt  grateful  to  the  "eremites  and  friars"  who  had  in 
their  primitive  way  sown  the  seed  of  art  in  the  desert, 
making  it  to  blossom  like  a  rose.  He  wondered  what 
manner  of  men  they  had  been,  from  what  they  had 
fled — taking  themselves  with  them — to  what  they  had 
attained? 

Hesper  sighed,  touched  by  the  surprise  and  enchant- 
ment of  it  all.  Moved  by  an  impulse  she  left  Ivors's 
side  and  knelt  before  the  ancient  altar  with  its  adoring 
angels. 


A  Voice  Crying  in  the  Wilderness  371 

Ivors's  heart  contracted  as  he  looked.  That  her 
religion  meant  much  to  her  he  knew,  but  it  was 
beautiful,  remote,  and  as  deeply  hidden  as  this  old 
chapel.  She  did  not  speak  about  it,  but  its  in- 
expressible fragrance  breathed  through  her  spirit 
and  distilled  itself  in  sweet  womanliness  and  gentle 
charity. 

He  had  often  watched  her  at  her  prayers,  and  now, 
as  always,  felt  a  sense  of  her  withdrawal,  of  the  pres- 
ence of  an  essence  which  he  could  not  capture.  Some- 
times it  was  as  a  benediction  to  him  to  know  that  she 
was  so  innately  good ;  at  others  the  sense  of  contrast 
opened  a  sudden  gulf  between  them.  Would  he  lose 
her  or  gain  her  through  eternity  for  her  goodness? 
To-morrow  he  would  know. 

A  carving  round  the  base  of  the  wall  caught  his  eye 
and  he  stooped  to  examine  it.  Some  words  in  Arabic 
were  engraved  on  the  stone. 

"What  is  written  here?"  he  asked  the  Keeper. 

The  bright  eyes  peered  upwards,  then  down  at  the 
stone  again. 

"I  used  to  know,  ef&ndi,  but  I  have  forgotten.  If 
Allah  wills  my  fingers  will  tell  me. " 

He  closed  his  eyes  and  felt  each  deeply-cut  letter 
with  his  strong  brown  fingers,  mumbling  to  himself 
in  Arabic.  To  Ivors's  highly  strung  fancy  he  seemed 
to  be  weaving  an  evil  spell  in  that  sacred  place,  while 
Hesper,  white  and  remote,  rapt  in  prayer,  was  de- 
tached from  him  in  spirit  as  well  as  in  body. 

The  mumbling  stopped;  the  bent  figure  straight- 
ened itself  as  well  as  it  could,  and  the  man  looked  up 
at  Ivors. 

"These  are  the  words,  o  ef&ndi — some  Christian 


372         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

spell  without  a  doubt.  'To-day  if  ye  will  hear  His 
voice,  harden  not  your  hearts. ' ' 

"  To-day  if  ye  will  hear  His  voice — "  the  words  fell 
on  Ivors's  ears  with  a  shock.  They  chimed  so  aptly 
with  his  thought,  with  his  design.  He  took  the  man 
by  the  shoulder. 

"You  are  sure  those  are  the  words?     Quite  sure?" 

"  Yd  saldm,  ef&ndi!  It  is  long  since  I  read,  but  as 
Allah  is  my  witness  those  be  the  words  my  fingers  told 
me.  They  are  not  evil  words,  efendi?" 

"  No,  no, "  said  Ivors.  "  To-day  if  ye  will  hear  His 
voice,  harden  not  your  hearts." 

Well,  he  had  heard  the  voice  to-day,  the  voice  cry- 
ing in  the  wilderness,  and  he  was  not  going  to  harden 
his  heart,  he  was  going  to  confess  his  sin  to  Hesper 
to-morrow. 

At  the  thought  wild  ideas  rushed  through  his  brain. 
It  seemed  as  if  Hesper  were  wrapt  away  from  him 
already;  as  if  for  countless  ages  she  had  knelt  there 
before  that  remote  unserved  altar ;  as  if  he  must  rouse 
her,  snatch  her  up,  carry  her  away  from  these  influ- 
ences into  the  secret  heart  of  the  hills. 

As  if  his  thoughts  had  touched  her,  she  rose  and 
came  towards  him.  In  the  twilight  of  the  rock- 
chapel  his  face  looked  white  and  strange. 

"Come  out,"  he  said,  almost  roughly,  "I  must 
breathe  the  outer  air  again." 

She  slipped  her  arm  through  his  and  rubbed  her 
cheek  against  his  shoulder.  Her  heart  was  full  of 
him;  her  prayers  had  all  been  his. 

The  light  seemed  dazzling  after  the  dimness  of 
the  church,  and  the  cliffs  were  irradiated  with  a  golden 
glow. 


A  Voice  Crying  in  the  Wilderness  373 

"Out  of  the  darkness  into  light,"  said  Hesper, 
lifting  her  face  to  the  sunshine. 

"Don't  go  into  the  light  without  me,"  he  cried 
hoarsely,  detaining  her. 

"I  don't  want  to  go  anywhere  without  you." 

"Not  even  to  Heaven?" 

"Not  even  to  Heaven,"  she  answered  with  a  little 
sigh  that  melted  into  a  smile. 

Up  past  the  forgotten  hermitage  they  went,  wander- 
ing along  the  rocky  plateau  to  find  that  Moussa  had 
set  a  feast  for  them  at  the  mouth  of  a  blue-shadowed 
cave. 

On  the  fine  yellow  sand  he  had  spread  a  rose  and 
purple  shawl  for  Hesper  to  sit  upon,  and  had  laid  a 
table  of  Nature's  providing  with  young  pigeons, 
crisp  bread,  golden  loose-skinned  oranges,  and  rip- 
est pomegranates.  He  had  made  a  pattern  in  the 
sand  with  jasmine  stars  and  curling  orange-leaves, 
and  into  silver  cups  he  had  poured  libations  of  white 
wine. 

"This  is  like  our  first  feast,  dearest,"  said  Hesper. 
"Ah,  do  you  remember?  How  lonely  I  felt  before 
you  came,  and  how  dull  my  ears  were  that  I  never 
heard  the  sound  of  your  feet!" 

"It  would  have  been  better  for  you  if  they  had 
carried  me  out  of  your  life." 

"High  treason  and  heresy!"  she  smiled.  "You 
must  be  extra  nice  to  me  now  to  make  up  for  the 
disloyalty  of  that  speech.  I  pledge  you,  my  dearest. 
I  drink  to  you  and  to  our  love. " 

She  lifted  one  of  the  silver  cups,  touched  it  with  her 
lips,  and  handed  it  to  him.  He  took  it  with  fingers 
that  shook. 


374         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

"You  have  filled  my  cup  with  sweetness, "  she  went 
on.  "Ah,  how  lonely  I  was  without  you!" 

He  handed  back  the  cup.  "To-morrow  I  may  fill 
it  with  bitterness,"  he  said.  The  hand  that  touched 
hers  in  the  transfer  was  burning. 

"Ah,  no,"  she  answered.  "You  couldn't  so  long 
as  you  love  me." 

His  face  lightened.  "Be  sure  of  that  whatever 
happens.  No  man  ever  loved  woman  as  I  love  you. " 

"  I  have  n't  crystallised  into  a  commonplace,  then? " 
she  looked  at  him  from  under  her  black  lashes. 

"  No,  you  have  n't.  You  were  more  correct  in  your 
diagnosis  of  human  nature  than  I.  One  cannot  fore- 
tell what  even  one's  nearest  and  dearest  will  do  in  the 
stress  of  circumstance. " 

"Who  is  your  nearest  and  dearest?"  she  coaxed, 
trying  to  woo  him  back  to  his  earlier  mood  of  gaiety. 

"Conceited  creature!    As  if  you  didn't  know!" 

"Of  course  I  know,  but  I  lo-ove  to  hear  you  say 
so!" 

The  strangeness  of  the  bread  and  wine  among  the 
desert  hills,  the  remoteness  from  their  kind,  the  silence 
and  solitude  of  their  surroundings,  curtaining  them 
as  in  a  sanctuary,  made  the  little  meal  seem  almost 
sacramental  to  Ivors. 

"  To-day  if  ye  will  hear  His  voice " 

He  had  vacillated  before.  He  would  postpone  no 
longer.  To-morrow  he  would  confess  his  sin  and 
take  his  punishment  like  a  man. 

To-day ? 

When  the  feast  was  over  and  its  traces  silently 
removed  by  Moussa,  Ivors  lay  on  the  sand  with  his 
head  on  Hesper's  lap.  He  felt  a  sense  of  peace  steal 


A  Voice  Crying  in  the  Wilderness  375 

over  him,  and  the  sweetness  of  her  presence  soothed 
him  with  its  wonted  magic.  At  times  he  seized  and 
kissed  the  gentle  fingers  which  stroked  his  hair  and 
forehead. 

"How  good  you  are!  How  far  above  me  you 
shine,  you  fixed  star!"  he  cried  once. 

The  stroking  ceased.     Hesper  was  troubled. 

"My  dearest,  I  wish  you  would  not  idealise  me  so. 
I  am  not  good — I  am  not  a  star,  but  a  very  ordinary, 
faulty  human  being." 

"I  don't  idealise  you.  I  call  you  conceited  and  a 
goose.  Is  that  the  language  of  rapture?" 

She  gave  a  little  crooning  laugh. 

"  I  know  you  're  a  woman,  which  spells  weak 
humanity  for  both  sexes,  but  Lord!  I  often  wonder 
whether  the  worst  woman  is  n't  better  than  the  best 
of  men?" 

Hesper  flushed  and  sparkled.  "Ingram!  The 
worst  of  women  better  than  you?  I  never  heard 
such  absurd  nonsense!" 

"Ah,  who's  idealising  now?  You  don't  know  men 
and  their  capacities,  Hesper  Belhasard.  You  don't 
know  their  temptations  and  passions,  nor  how  close 
the  beast  in  them  is  always  lurking.  What  did  these 
hermits  flee  from?" 

"I  know  that  they  were  made  in  the  image  of 
God,"  answered  Hesper  very  low. 

"And  how  cruelly,  how  brutally  men  often  deface 
that  image!"  cried  Ivors.  "You  believe  in  God, 
Hesper,  in  a  personal,  actual  God?" 

Hesper  was  startled.  She  spoke  softly,  shyly,  out 
of  the  depths  of  her  reticence. 

"I  believe  in  an  ineffable  Presence,  an  ineffable 


376         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

Goodness  and  Understanding.  Yes,  Some  One  Who 
knows  our  sins  and  weaknesses,  and  makes  allowances 
for  the  unseen  temptations  of  circumstance  and 
surroundings 

"  Some  One  Who  really  cares? "  he  interrupted. 

"Some  One  Who  really  cares,"  she  answered  low. 
"I  am  stupid  at  saying  what  I  feel.  I  only  know. 
After  all,  we  have  only  finite,  limited  words  to  express 
the  ineffable,  and  only  earthly  symbols  to  express 
heavenly  things." 

"But  you  believe  that  somewhere  there  is  Some  One 
Who  cares  what  becomes  of  us,  as  I  care  for  you  or  you 
care  for  me?"  he  persisted. 

"Oh,  more,  far  more.  That  's  an  earthly  symbol 
which  expresses  the  heavenly.  If  we  two  faulty 
human  beings  can  care  so  much — "  she  broke  off, 
but  her  silence  spoke. 

Ivors  looked  through  the  mouth  of  the  cave  across 
the  peach-yellow  valley  to  the  hot  hills  opposite,  which 
seemed  to  burn  against  the  intense  blueness  of  the 
sky. 

"Have  you  ever  come  across  this  verse,  Hesper?" 
he  asked  after  a  pause. 

"  'Within  my  earthly  temple  there  's  a  crowd; 
There  's  one  of  us  that 's  humble,  one  that 's  proud, 
There  's  one  that  's  broken-hearted  for  his  sins, 
And  one  who,  unrepentant,  sits  and  grins; 
There  's  one  who  loves  his  neighbour  as  himself 
And  one  who  cares  for  naught  but  fame  and  pelf. — 
From  much  corroding  care  I  should  be  free 
If  once  I  could  determine  which  is  me. ' 

"With  a  few  little  differences  there  's  Ingram  Ivors 
— Ego — for  you. " 


A  Voice  Crying  in  the  Wilderness  377 

"There's  each  of  us,"  answered  Hesper.  "I'm 
sure  most  human  beings  have  felt  that  sense  of  warring 
entities." 

"Only  those  with  imaginations.  The  fellow  who 
wrote  that  packed  a  profound  truth  into  his  nutshell 
of  verse."  He  gazed  silently  into  the  distance. 

"Wise  men  crack  nuts  for  fools  to  eat,"  said 
Hesper.  "Do  you  know  that  your  hair  would  curl 
beautifully  if  you  would  only  let  it  grow  a  little  longer." 

"  Don't  tell  me  that  you  want  a  curly  horror  for  a 
husband?"  he  began  lightly,  but  the  word  husband 
checked  him. 

He  rose.     "It  's  time  for  us  to  go, "  he  said. 

Hesper  held  out  her  hands,  and  as  he  bent  to  take 
them  the  picture  became  impressed  on  his  mind — the 
silent  sanctuary  and  the  dark  recession  of  the  cave, 
the  white-clad  woman  with  the  chain  of  turquoises 
which  called  the  love-colour  to  her  eyes,  the  glowing 
rug  on  the  fine  sand,  and  the  slim  hands  stretched  up 
in  appeal. 

"Is  our  lovely  day  over?"  she  asked  regretfully. 
She  slipped  her  hand  within  his  arm  and  rested  against 
him  when  he  had  helped  her  to  rise. 

"  Not  yet,  the  Lord  be  praised, "  he  answered.  "  We 
have  the  ride  home  and  the  night  with  its  myriad 
stars." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

TO-MORROW 

WHEN  they  had  left  behind  them  the  lonely 
valley,  wishing  a  "Night  as  white  as  milk" 
to  the  Keeper  of  the  Caves,  an  odd  spirit  of  reaction 
seized  Ivors. 

He  laughed,  jested,  urged  his  donkey  to  a  gallop, 
and  challenged  Hesper  to  a  race  across  the  desert. 
She  laughed  too,  and  fell  in  with  his  mood,  and  with 
quickened  pulses  they  raced  across  the  heavy  sand 
to  the  sound  of  beating  hoofs  and  the  pattering  feet  of 
the  donkey-boys.  They  had  perforce  to  slacken 
speed  when  they  came  to  the  highway  along  the  Nile- 
bank  and  mingled  once  more  with  humanity,  the 
crowd  which  came  and  went  to  the  watering-places  in 
the  red  sunset;  the  dark-robed  women  with  jars,  the 
water-carriers  with  their  shaggy  goat-skins,  the  child- 
ren driving  cows  and  buffaloes,  the  shepherds  leading 
their  flocks  and  herds,  the  strings  of  camels  tied  nose 
to  tail,  grunting  and  bubbling  as  they  passed,  the 
little  pink-clad  girls  with  baskets  of  fuel-cakes  on  their 
heads,  the  brown-robed  men  with  their  wool  and 
spindles. 

So  through  the  crowded  village  with  its  gleam  of 
fires  seen  through  square  and  courtyard,  its  palm- 

378 


To-Morrow  379 

thatched  houses  and  its  sharp-nosed,  barking  pariah 
dogs,  to  the  zinc  and  wood  railway-station  set  incon- 
gruously beyond  it. 

Their  train  was  not  yet  due,  and  the  wind  which 
sometimes  springs  up  on  the  Nile  at  sunset  blew  with 
an  unwonted  sharpness.  Ivors,  who  was  heated  from 
his  ride,  shivered  a  little  at  its  touch. 

Hesper,  quick  to  note,  was  all  solicitude. 

"Ingram,  haven't  you  got  a  coat?  Moussa,  why 
did  you  not  bring  your  master's  coat?" 

"Also  an  eider-down  and  a  hot- water  bottle?" 
scoffed  Ivors.  "  Dear  fuss,  why  don't  you  offer  me 
your  turquoise  chain  for  a  wrap?" 

Hesper  smiled.  "  Let 's  walk  about  at  any  rate,  so 
that  you  shan't  get  a  chill. " 

"Bachelors'  wives  and  old  maids'  children — no, 
that  's  not  appropriate,"  he  began. 

"Appropriate  enough,"  she  answered.  "/  was  an 
old  maid  for  so  long,  with  no  one  to  take  care  of,  that 
it 's  more  applicable  than  you  think.  I  suppose  the 
reason  that  the  saying  is  never  inverted  to  old  maids' 
husbands  and  bachelors'  children  is  that  every  woman 
is  at  heart  a  mother.  We  all  have  the  protective  in- 
stinct. I  suppose  that  is  why  we  look  upon  our  men- 
folk as  nothing  more — or  less — than  big  children." 

As  she  spoke  a  sense  of  that  divine  instinct  compact 
of  the  desire  to  give,  to  understand,  to  strengthen,  to 
protect,  and  above  all  to  love,  flowed  from  her  to  him, 
and  seemed  to  be  but  another  link  in  the  chain  that 
bound  them  together.  Needing  her  as  he  did  it  would 
break  her  heart  to  break  that  chain,  he  reasoned. 

"  That, in  a  way,  is  how  I  looked  on  my  dear  father," 
the  soft  voice  went  on,  impelled  to  confidence  by  the 


380         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

subtle  influences  of  his  nearness  and  the  waning  light. 
"It  was  that  alone  which  kept  me  from  being  too 
cruelly  hurt  when  he  failed  me,  as  people  have  failed 
me  all  my  life.  Now  I  Ve  learned  to  be  content  to 
give  and  not  to  expect  too  much  in  return,  to  do  my 
utmost  not  to  fail  any  one  who  depends  on  me,  and 
no  to  over-demand.  In  one  way  or  another  every 
one  on  whom  I  ever  depended  failed  me,  every  one 
but  you!"  she  ended  with  unwonted  fire. 

Ivors  turned  abruptly  on  the  platform,  so  that  his 
back  was  to  the  flaming  after-glow  and  his  face  in 
shadow.  Her  words,  as  well  as  her  sudden  clinging 
touch,  smote  deep.  He  pressed  her  arm  in  silence. 
He  could  find  no  words  for  the  thoughts  which  surged 
within  him. 

When  at  last  he  spoke,  his  words  were  apparently 
irrelevant  to  Hesper's  confidence,  but  she  was  used  to 
his  mental  flights  and  followed  them,  or  anticipated 
them  as  best  she  might. 

"What  clogged  minds  the  old  animals  must  have 
had  who  pictured  Hell  as  a  fiery  furnace!"  he  cried. 
"  The  doctrine  of  the  immortality  of  the  soul  is  a  more 
exquisitely  cruel  one  than  that  of  the  fiercest  of 
material  flames.  Omar,  the  old  Pagan,  knew  better. " 

He  quickened  his  pace  as  he  murmured : 

"I  sent  my  Soul  through  the  Invisible 
Some  letter  of  the  After-Life  to  spell; 
And  by-and-by  my  Soul  returned  to  me, 
And  answered,  'I  myself  am  Heaven  and  Hell.'" 

"That  's  the  crux — I  myself  am  Heaven  and  Hell. 
To  take  yourself  with  you  throughout  eternity  .  .  . 
Lord,  what  a  refinement  of  torture!" 


To-Morrow  381 

Hesper  was  puzzled  at  his  vehemence.  She  could 
not  understand  the  bitterness  of  self-condemnation 
which  tinctured  his  speech. 

"But  it  is  n't  your  worst  self  you  take  with  you," 
she  began  tentatively. 

"Of  course  not,"  he  returned  impatiently.  "It 's 
only  your  better  self  which  is  fine  enough  to  appreciate 
the  subtler  shades  of  punishment.  Here  's  the  train, 
puffing  derision  at  the  idea  of  my  discussing  soul- 
psychology.  "  He  laughed. 

"Why  do  you  laugh,  Ingram?" 

"Because  crying  is  such  a  hideous  sound,"  he 
answered  unexpectedly. 

When  the  train  moved  out  of  the  station  he  came 
close  to  her. 

"Let  me  lay  my  head  on  your  nice  soft  shoulder," 
he  said.  "That  at  any  rate  has  never  failed  me." 

"And  never  will,"  she  asserted,  touching  his  cheek 
tenderly. 

"What  a  cocksure  person  you  are!"  he  returned, 
with  his  old  whimsical  smile.  Then  after  a  long 
silence:  "It  is  from  this  bourne  that  I  should  like  to 
set  out  for  the  last  Great  Adventure,"  he  said  softly, 
and  he  did  not  move  until  the  quickened  beat  of  her 
heart  was  followed  by  a  patter  of  warm  tears  upon  his 
cheek. 

Hesper  thought  of  his  words  in  the  dawn  of  the 
morrow  when,  after  a  night  of  alternate  shivering  and 
fever,  Ivors  woke  from  a  fitful  doze  to  a  rending  attack 
of  coughing  which,  to  her  horror  and  despair,  ended  in 
a  violent  hemorrhage  of  the  lungs. 

Illness,  with  its  innumerable  needs  and  details,  was 


382         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

almost  unknown  to  her,  and  she  waited  for  the  arrival 
of  Dr.  Ayrton  in  a  mute  agony  that  shut  out  hope 
from  her  horizon.  The  still  speechless  figure  with  its 
haunting  eyes  was  not  her  Ingram;  the  unresponsive 
hand  which  lay  in  hers  was  not  the  hand  whose  touch 
she  would  have  known  among  ten  thousand. 

The  hours  of  watching  seemed  endless.  A  century 
separated  her  from  the  ordinary  life  of  yesterday.  It 
seemed  as  if  the  blow  had  fallen  years  ago,  as  if  this 
deadly  certainty  of  peril  had  always  enwrapped  her. 

It  was  a  white,  despairing  woman  who  faced  Dr. 
Ayrton  when  he  came,  who  spoke  briefly,  and  huskily, 
but  whose  beseeching  soul  looked  at  him  out  of  her 
darkly  shadowed  eyes. 

He  was  a  kindly  man  of  middle-age,  who  had  looked 
on  life  and  death  all  his  days  as  the  great  unsolvable 
mysteries.  He  had  attended  Ivors  before,  and  was  all 
too  familiar  with  the  state  of  his  lungs.  He  made  a 
brief  examination,  a  briefer  diagnosis. 

Ivors's  brown  eyes  questioned  him,  dog-like. 

"Ami ?" 

"  No  speaking,  please, "  said  Dr.  Ayrton.  "  You  're 
a  nice  fellow  to  give  your  poor  wife  a  fright  like  this. 
Donkey-riding  yesterday  across  the  desert,  heat,  a 
chill.  I  wonder  at  you  at  your  age,  Ivors!  Now 
listen,  my  good  man,  I  deliver  absolute  authority 
into  Mrs.  Ivors's  hands.  You  're  not  to  budge — prop 
him  steady  with  pillows,  Mrs.  Ivors.  You  are  not  to 
speak.  No  worry,  no  agitation.  If  you  want  to  get 
better  your  only  chance  is  to  lie  as  still  as  a  mummy 
and  do  what  you  're  told. " 

The  simile  was  not  a  happy  one,  there  was  too  death- 
like a  stillness  already  about  the  tense  form  in  the  bed. 


To-Morrow  383 

Only  the  eyes  seemed  to  be  alive,  and  they  were  mutely 
asking,  asking,  asking. 

Hesper  saw  the  appeal,  and  bent  towards  him. 

"You  want  something,  dearest.  He  wants  some- 
thing. May  he  whisper,  doctor?" 

"One  word,  then.     He  must  not  be  agitated." 

His  lips  formed  the  word,  "Hildred." 

"Yes,  dear,  I  know.  Hildred.  He  wants  his 
daughter  to  know,  doctor.  You  want  me  to  telegraph. 
Very  well.  I  '11  send  Moussa  at  once.  Her  address  is 
in  your  pocket-book.  No,  I  won't  leave  you  except 
to  write  the  wire.  The  littlest  moment,  dearest." 

She  followed  Dr.  Ayrton  into  the  big,  cool  hall  with 
its  rich  Persian  rugs. 

"Well?"  she  asked,  as  countless  women  have  asked 
before  her  of  countless  human  arbiters. 

Dr.  Ayrton  was  vague,  guarded. 

"He  should  have  come  to  me  sooner.  The  great 
thing  now  is  to  guard  against  a  recurrence  of  the 
hemorrhage.  If  you  have  to  hold  him  he  must  be  kept 
absolutely  still.  You  have  an  ice-machine?  Good. 
Would  you  like  me  to  wire  to  Cairo  for  a  nurse?  We 
must  n't  have  you  knocking  yourself  up,  Mrs.  Ivors." 

"It  does  n't  matter  about  me — "  she  began. 

"Now  that 's  the  great  mistake  that  all  you  good, 
unselfish  women  make, "  he  interrupted.  "You  must 
take  care  of  yourself ;  you  must  husband  your  strength. 
It 's  selfishness  not  to  do  so;  and  recoils  on  those 
whom  you  desire  to  serve. " 

"I  don't  want  a  nurse  unless  it  is  absolutely  neces- 
sary. Miss  Ivors  will  probably  come  as  soon  as  she 
can,  and  I  expect  my  own  maid,  who  is  a  splendid 
nurse,  in  about  a  week.  If  you  think  that  Moussa  and 


384         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

I  can  manage  until  then?  I  '11  take  great  care  of 
myself."  She  tried  to  smile  at  Dr.  Ayrton,  who 
coughed  as  he  turned  away. 

"  Very  well.  If  you  write  out  that  wire  I  11  send  it 
for  you. "  He  gave  some  further  directions  and  said 
he  would  come  again  later,  thinking,  as  he  strode 
through  the  oleanders  which  bent  their  rosy  buds 
above  the  tinkling  stream,  that  it  was  extremely  pro- 
blematical whether  Ivors  would  live  to  see  daughter  or 
nurse  or  even  the  dawn  of  another  day. 

"  If  he  has  another  hemorrhage  he  '11  go  out  like  the 
snuff  of  a  candle,"  he  said  to  himself,  and  he  went 
back  to  his  rooms  to  dispose  of  his  few  fashionable 
patients  for  the  day  and  make  preparations  to  take 
up  his  abode  for  the  time  being  at  El-Saada. 

So  the  stars  fought  in  their  courses,  and  to-morrow 
was  farther  off  for  Ivors  than  ever.  He  had  had  his 
chance  and  lost  it,  but  in  his  weakness  nothing 
mattered.  He  was  not  capable  of  coherent  thought ; 
he  drifted  on  a  sea  of  nothingness  where  the  only  real 
thing  was  sight  and  touch  of  Hesper.  He  forgot  even 
the  vague  impulse  which  had  spurred  him  to  ask  for 
Hildred;  he  did  not  care  for  anything  so  long  as 
Hesper  were  present.  He  had  thought  that  she  was 
going  away,  but  she  had  not  gone.  She  was  always 
there  when  he  opened  his  eyes  on  this  new  vague 
world;  that  was  all  that  mattered.  Once  when  by 
chance  she  was  absent  his  haunting,  terrified  eyes  sent 
Moussa  in  swift  pursuit. 

The  days  dragged  in  an  endless  dreamlike  routine. 
Everything  was  changed  by  the  coming  of  the  grim 
presence.  The  infinitesimal  loomed  into  the  mag- 
nitude of  the  abnormal ;  the  silent  house  seemed  full  of 


To-Morrow  385 

shadows  and  footsteps ;  the  ticking  of  a  clock  seemed 
a  waiting  menace. 

The  suddenness  of  the  change  at  first  stunned  Hes- 
per,  but  when  the  hours  passed  into  days  and  the  days 
into  nights,  and  days  and  nights  were  woven  into  the 
chain  of  a  week  without  the  dreaded  recurrence,  her 
spirit  lifted  itself  again,  and  on  the  far  horizon  she 
seemed  to  catch  a  faint  vision  of  hope. 

Dr.  Ayrton  ceased  to  spend  his  nights  on  the 
island ;  the  tension,  but  not  the  vigilance,  was  slightly 
relaxed.  The  gazelles  came  pattering  into  Ivors's 
room  in  search  of  Hesper,  and  were  relentlessly  hunted 
forth  by  Moussa  lest  they  should  disturb  his  beloved 
efdndi. 

Memory  had  not  as  yet  pierced  Ivors's  apathy.  The 
anodyne  of  illness  had  dulled  all  requirements  to  his 
need  of  Hesper,  and  the  faculty  of  dreamlike  existence 
from  day  to  day.  He  had  forgotten  the  stress  of  the 
past,  or  at  most  had  but  a  dim  subconsciousness  of  it, 
a  sensation  rather  than  a  coming  menace. 

At  first  Hesper  could  scarcely  believe  the  tale  of  the 
creeping  hours,  then  as  he  grew  gradually  better  she 
told  herself  that  his  words  on  that  Thursday  had  not 
been  prophetic,  premonitory  of  cruel  separation.  She 
was  content  with  so  little,  just  this  first  slight  relaxa- 
tion of  the  cold  clutch  of  terror  which  gripped  her 
heart.  If  from  day  to  day  she  kept  him  with  her  she 
would  not  look  ahead.  With  tears  and  prayers  she 
wrestled  on  her  knees  for  Ivors's  life,  and  saw  with 
thankful  heart  the  hourly  answer. 

Sometimes  they  talked  a  little  in  whispers;  some- 
times she  read  him  to  sleep. 

"I  think  old  Ayrton  thought  I  was  done  for,"  he 
25 


386         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

said  once.  "I  was  in  the  valley  of  the  shadow,  I 
know,  but  you  pulled  me  back." 

"I?" 

"Yes,  you,  Hesper  Belhasard.  I  was  conscious  of 
you  somehow.  You  would  n't  let  me  go." 

"No,  I  held  you  close,  beloved,"  she  whispered 
triumphantly.  "Oh,  my  very  dearest!" 

He  knit  puzzled  brows.  "There  was  something  I 
can't  remember.  I  thought  you  were  going  to  cast 
me  adrift." 

"That  must  have  been  the  fever,  dearest.  /  cast 
you  adrift?  Such  nonsense! "  She  gave  a  low  happy 
laugh.  A  few  days  ago  she  had  thought  that  she 
would  never  laugh  again. 

"There  was  something,"  he  persisted,  "but  I  can't 
remember. " 

"Don't  try.  Shall  I  read  you  the  Lotus-Eaters? 
This  is  just  the  warm  dreamy  atmosphere  for  it,  with 
the  jasmine-scent  coming  in  through  the  windows." 
She  took  the  book  from  the  table  and  began  to  read 
in  her  cooing  voice,  which  harmonised  with  the  words 
she  uttered: 

"There  is  sweet  music  here  that  softer  falls 
Than  petals  from  blown  roses  on  the  grass, 
Or  night-dew  on  still  water  between  walls 
Of  shadowy  granite  in  a  gleaming  pass; 

Music  that  gentlier  on  the  spirit  lies 

Than  tir'd  eyelids  upon  tir'd  eyes; 
Music  that  brings  sweet  sleep  down  from  the  blissful  skies." 

Before  the  soft  voice  had  finished  the  Choric  Song 
Ivors's  tired  eyelids  closed  upon  his  tired  eyes,  and  he 
slept. 


To-Morrow  387 

Hesper's  heart  contracted  as  she  looked  at  him. 
Was  this  thin,  white,  weary  being  the  Ingram  who  had 
laughed  and  joked  and  run  races  with  her  one  short 
week  ago?  Was  it  not  only  the  shadow  of  the  man  she 
loved?  Ah,  but  her  heart  went  out  in  doubled  fulness 
to  that  shadow  which  had  so  nearly  eluded  her,  so 
nearly  slipped  away  into  the  Place  of  Shadows. 

She  would  not  let  him  go,  he  had  murmured.  Was 
that  what  it  really  meant?  she  wondered.  Had  her 
prayers  kept  him  with  her,  her  great  insistent  need  of 
him?  How  they  depended  on  each  other,  these  two 
lonely  creatures !  Great  tears  welled  up  into  her  eyes 
and  rolled  slowly  down  her  cheeks  as  she  looked  at  the 
gaunt  form,  so  nearly  reft  from  her  already,  and 
thought  of  the  frail  hold  which  those  hands,  grown  so 
suddenly  white  and  thin,  had  upon  life.  Any  remem- 
brance of  his  petulance,  his  impatience,  was  swept 
away  by  the  great  flood  of  love  which  surged  anew  in 
her  heart  for  him.  She  set  self  aside  utterly.  Even 
when  Nanno,  her  one  link  with  the  past,  arrived  with 
great  composure  one  evening,  she  did  not  let  herself 
break  down  beyond  a  sob  or  two,  and  a  cry  of  "Oh, 
Nanno!  Nanno!" 

"  'T  is  the  fine  uprise  entirely  for  ye,  me  darlin' 
lamb — Miss  Hesper,  ma'am,  I  should  say,"  said  the 
elder  woman,  patting  her  nursling's  shoulder.  "  To 
be  livin'  in  a  grand  house  like  this,  and  married  to 
that  handsome  gentleman,  God  bless  him!  'T  is 
we  '11  nurse  him,  the  two  of  us,  until  he  gets  as  fat 
as  butter." 

Hesper  dried  her  eyes  and  smiled.  "That  '11  take 
some  time,  I  'm  afraid,  Nanno.  Oh,  how  heavenly 
it  is  to  have  a  woman  to  talk  to  again ! "  She  suddenly 


388         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

realised  what  the  gap  had  been  now  that  it  was  filled. 
"  We  must  n't  disturb  Mr.  Ivors  at  present.  We  have 
to  be  very,  very  careful  of  him.  I  won't  even  tell  him 
that  you  are  here  for  a  day  or  two  lest  it  should  up- 
set him.  The  least  thing  may  bring  on  that  dreadful 
hemorrhage  again."  She  gave  an  involuntary  shud- 
der at  the  thought,  then  set  her  lips  and  braced 
herself  to  meet  the  future,  strengthened  already  by 
Nanno's  presence.  "  Miss  Ivors  may  be  here  in  a  day 
or  two.  You  remember  her,  Nanno?  He  asked  for 
her  the  first  day,  but  he  has  n't  mentioned  her  since. 
I  have  n't  either,  for  fear  of  worrying  him.  She  will 
probably  wire  if  she  is  coming,  or  rather  when  she  is 
coming,  for  I  'm  sure  she  '11  come. " 

If  she  felt  the  faintest  pang  at  having  to  share  her 
beloved  task  with  Hildred  she  did  not  admit  it  even 
to  herself.  She  acknowledged  the  girl's  right  to  be 
with  her  father.  She  could  afford  to  let  Hildred  have 
the  crumbs;  nay,  more,  she  would  share  what  she 
could  with  her  generously  out  of  abundance.  Her 
heart  felt  very  tender  towards  the  girl  during  these 
days  of  anxiety,  when  she  had  time  to  think  of  other 
than  Ivors.  Had  she  known  where  to  telegraph  re- 
assurance she  would  have  done  so,  but  no  word  came 
from  Hildred. 


CHAPTER   IX 

MANY  WATERS 

WHEN  Ivors  realised  Nanno's  presence  he 
accepted  the  fact  with  the  dreamy  acquies- 
cence into  which  all  his  former  characteristics  seemed 
to  have  merged.  He  did  not  suffer,  except  from 
extreme  weakness;  he  had  no  pain,  mental  or  physical, 
save  the  sense  of  uneasiness  whenever  Hesper  left  his 
sight.  It  seemed  to  her  that  if  she  were  at  the 
remotest  end  of  the  garden  she  would  still  hear  the 
husky  whisper  of  "  Hesper  Belhasard, "  which  checked 
her  infrequent  absences. 

He  grew  daily  a  little  better  up  to  a  certain  point, 
but  there  progress  ceased.  Dr.  Ayrton  thought  that 
the  rapidly  increasing  heat  of  the  weather  retarded 
him,  spoke  of  cooler  air,  but  gave  no  hint  of  being  able 
to  move  him  as  yet. 

The  roses  were  gone;  the  hot  wind  blew  clouds 
of  their  petals  across  the  verandah,  and  withered 
the  waxen  stars  of  the  jasmine.  The  creaking  of  the 
sakiyeh  sounded  louder  in  the  warm  stillness,  and  the 
river  ran  daily  lower.  Hesper  went  into  the  garden 
late  one  afternoon  to  breathe  the  outer  air.  She  had 
just  read  Ivors  to  sleep,  and  she  crept  softly  away  for  a 
moment,  leaving  Nanno,  a  straight-backed  vigilant 

389 


39°         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

watcher,  incongruously  knitting  beneath  one  of  the 
Moorish  arches  in  the  big  darkened  room. 

The  gazelles  pattered  to  meet  her,  and  licked  the 
ringers  that  had  forgotten  to  bring  them  sugar.  With 
a  hand  on  the  neck  of  each  she  moved  slowly  down  the 
path  between  the  oleanders.  One  of  them — Anas — 
left  her,  to  sip  daintily  at  the  turquoise  brink  of  the 
stream,  and  she  stood  waiting,  gently  caressing  the 
dappled  neck  of  the  dainty  Zahr. 

It  was  a  picture  in  keeping  with  the  waning  lux- 
uriance of  the  garden;  blown  roses,  fading  fires  of 
oleander  and  poinsettia,  and  the  tall  white  weary 
woman  with  the  purple  shadows  of  watching  and 
sorrow  under  her  eyes. 

The  song  of  Mahmud,  the  sakiyeh  boy,  came  to  her 
through  the  warm  heavy  air,  increasing  and  dimin- 
ishing in  sound  as  the  fawn  cow  went  her  slow  round. 

"A  lover  said  to  a  dove, 
'Lend  me  your  wings  for  a  day!'" 

What  were  the  exact  words?  How  well  she  remem- 
bered the  first  day  she  had  heard  them,  the  day  that 
the  feldkeh  brought  her  here  to  El-Saada,  the  Island 
of  Happiness ! 

What  had  the  magic  of  Egypt  wrought  for  her? 
Depths  of  loneliness  and  humiliation,  heights  of  su- 
preme joy.  The  Song  of  the  Nile  had  touched  for  her 
the  gamut  of  human  emotions,  and  in  her  overstrung 
tired  mood  she  was  almost  ready  to  hear  a  requiem  in 
it  now.  A  cloud  of  depression  brooded  heavily  over 
her,  the  inevitable  reaction  from  the  constant  strain, 
but  she  tried  to  dispel  it,  thankful  for  the  reprieve 
granted  from  day  to  day. 


Many  Waters  391 

"I  shall  obtain  enough  love 
O  dove,  for  a  year  and  a  day. 
Lend  me  your  wings,  O  dove!" 

The  voice  ceased  with  a  little  twirl,  and  then  began 
over  again  in  a  slightly  higher  key,  to  the  accompani- 
ment of  the  creaking  wheel. 

There  was  the  sound  of  a  dip  of  oars,  a  murmur  of 
voices,  but  Hesper  did  not  heed  them  until  she  saw  a 
figure  moving  quickly  up  the  path  from  the  little 
landing-place — a  slim,  grey,  girlish  figure  whose  foot- 
steps quickened  as  she  approached. 

"It 's  Hildred!"  she  cried,  hastening  to  meet  her 
with  open  arms. 

To  Hildred,  after  the  anxious  monotony  of  her  sea- 
voyage  and  the  dust,  heat,  and  fatigue  of  her  long 
train-journey,  the  crossing  from  the  mainland  among 
the  desolate  islets  and  the  vivid  colouring  of  the  wild 
Nubian  hills  seemed  to  cast  about  her  a  strange  spell, 
which  culminated  when  she  set  foot  upon  this  en- 
chanted island.  The  tall  white  figure  against  the 
green  background,  the  gazelles,  the  turquoise  bed  of 
the  rivulet,  owned  all  the  glamour  of  the  unreal,  and 
suggested  some  ancient  mystic  poem  rather  than  the 
actualities  of  real  life. 

"Why,  it 's  Smarlie!"  she  cried,  as  she  drew  near. 
"How  is  he?" 

"Better,  thank  God!"  exclaimed  Hesper,  holding 
out  her  arms. 

By  some  subconscious  trick  of  memory  the  picture 
of  Persephone's  return  to  the  upper  air  flashed  across 
Hildred's  mind.  Hesper's  attitude  was  the  attitude 
of  Demeter,  loving,  expectant,  and  it  gave  the  tired 
girl  a  sense  of  comfort,  of  ineffable  relief,  to  feel  those 


392         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

kind  arms  folded  round  her,  and  to  receive  that  warm 
welcome  where  she  had  not  known  what  to  expect. 
After  a  moment  she  disengaged  herself. 

"You  must  be  worn  out,  you  poor  child!"  said 
Hesper.  "  Why  did  you  not  wire  to  let  us  know  when 
to  expect  you?  How  did  you  get  here?" 

"I  hired  a  boat  at  Assuan,"  answered  Hildred, 
conscious  now  of  intense  fatigue.  "  I  wrote.  Did  n't 
father  get  my  letter?" 

"No.  There  was  no  letter.  Your  room  is  ready, 
though." 

Suddenly  the  oddness  of  the  situation,  the  unex- 
pectedness of  Hesper's  presence,  her  welcoming, 
proprietorial  air,  struck  the  girl  in  all  its  strangeness. 

"Are  you  staying  here,  Smarlie?"  she  asked. 

Hesper  smiled.  The  child  was  tired,  bewildered, 
upset  from  the  long  strain  and  anxiety.  "Naturally. 
If  you  had  only  wired  the  name  of  your  boat  and  date 
of  starting  you  should  have  had  a  telegram  at  every 
port.  I  have  been  feeling  so  sorry  for  you,  Hildred, 
but  I  did  not  know  what  to  do,  whether  to  write  or 
not.  Besides,  I  have  been  so  terribly  anxious.  Ah, 
you  don't  know  what  it  has  been  like!" 

She  gave  a  little  shiver. 

Hildred  looked  at  her  curiously,  all  fatigue  forgotten. 
In  the  light  of  her  father's  former  admission  here  was 
something  which  she  could  not  understand. 

"But — have  you  been  nursing  him?"  she  asked, 
puzzled.  "Are  the  Austrians  here?" 

A  sudden  suspicion  struck  Hesper.  Was  it  pos- 
sible that  Ingram  had  never  told  the  girl  at  all?  That 
she  had  misread  the  smile  with  which  he  had  answered 
her  wordless  query?  She  felt  a  little  chilled  and  sorry, 


Many  Waters  393 

for  Hildred's  warmth  had  not  been  in  response  to  their 
new  relations,  as  she  had  fancied,  and  the  revelation 
was  yet  to  come. 

"  Graf  von  Strelitz  lent  the  island  to  your  father  for 
the  winter.  We  have  been  here  since  November.  I 
thought  you  knew. "  She  would  not  assume  Hildred's 
ignorance  until  she  was  certain  that  the  girl  was 
unaware  of  what  had  happened. 

"We?"  echoed  Hildred,  incredulity  struggling 
with  a  horrible  suspicion.  "We?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Hesper  quietly,  "your  father  and 
I." 

"Father  and  you?    But — "  the  words  choked  her. 

"I  see  that  he  has  n't  told  you.  I  am  very  sorry. 
It  was  never  my  wish  that  you  should  be  kept  in 
ignorance. "  She  checked  herself,  fearful  of  disloyalty 
to  Ivors.  She  took  the  girl's  limp  hand  in  hers.  ' '  We 
were  married  last  May." 

"Married?"  Hildred  seemed  incapable  of  other 
answer  than  horrified  whispered  repetition. 

"Yes,  married."  Her  lips  trembled  suddenly. 
"Won't  you  say  something  nice  to  me,  Hildred? 
Won't  you  say  at  least  that  you  are  not — sorry?  I — 
have  gone  through  much — in  these  last  days.  I — I 
thought  you  liked  me — a  little. "  Her  voice  broke. 

Some  cord  snapped  and  loosed  Hildred's  speech. 
She  snatched  away  her  hand  and  turned  to  face 
Hesper,  her  words  coming  incoherently. 

"I  did  like  you.  I  do  like  you.  But  it's  all 
a  dreadful  mistake.  I  can't  believe  it.  Father — • 
you  're  not  married.  You  can't  be  married. " 

Hesper  drew  herself  up,  and  looked  in  wonder  at  the 
girl's  white  strained  face.  Was  she  mad?  Why  did 


394         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

she  say  such  absurd  things?     Mere  resentment  could 
not  account  for  it. 

"It 's  all  a  mistake.  You  can't  be  married!"  she 
repeated  wildly. 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  my  mother  is  alive." 

"Your  mother  is  alive?" 

"Yes." 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  the  house,  and  Hesper 
suddenly  swayed  and  sat  down  on  the  verandah  steps. 

The  whole  scene  seemed  unreal,  impossible. 

The  woman  and  the  girl  in  the  garden,  saying 
unbelievable  things  to  each  other  beneath  a  hard 
blue  sky. 

The  steps  were  in  shadow,  and  the  trails  of  withering 
jasmine  tapped  lightly  against  them  in  a  puff  of  wind. 
Once  again  Hesper's  world  had  crashed  about  her  ears. 
She  had  rebuilt  it  before,  but  now  the  fragments 
appeared  infinitesimal.  Something  in  falling  seemed 
to  have  pierced  her  heart,  and  she  had  the  odd  fancy 
that  she  could  feel  it  dripping  slowly — drip,  drip,  drip, 
tears  of  blood.  It  did  not  really  hurt — yet. 

She  looked  up  at  Hildred,  who  stood  above  her, 
bewildered,  indignant,  miserable,  caught  in  a  swirl  of 
scarcely  realised  emotions,  not  knowing  what  to  say  or 
what  to  do.  She  continued  to  ask  incredible  questions 
in  a  dull  toneless  voice. 

"Your  mother  is  really  alive?" 

"Yes." 

"Was  she  alive  last  May?"  What  an  absurd 
question!  What  inadequate  things  words  were! 

"Yes." 

"Did— he— know?" 


Many  Waters  395 

"Yes." 

"You  are  sure?" 

"  He  must  have  known. " 

"No  possible  doubt?"  Even  as  she  spoke  Hesper 
knew  that  there  was  no  doubt.  Half -forgotten  un- 
comprehended  memories,  thronging  from  the  past, 
gave  her  instant  assurance  of  that.  In  that  blinding 
flash  much  that  had  been  hidden  was  laid  bare. 

"Not  the  faintest."  Hildred  put  her  hand  to  her 
throat  as  if  to  ward  off  a  choking  sensation.  She  felt 
a  wild  desire  to  scream,  to  run  away,  to  do  anything 
in  order  to  escape  from  this  quiet  cross-examination. 
She  could  neither  condone  nor  condemn.  She  was 
too  near  the  event  to  see  it  in  any  true  proportion,  and 
the  ghastly  quietude  and  lack  of  sensation  or  drama 
only  added  to  the  poignance  of  the  scene. 

There  was  a  silence,  which  the  song  of  Mahmud 
broke  violently.  The  two  women  started.  Hesper 
shivered. 

"Then  it  was  all  a  lie,"  she  said  dully.  "All  a 
lie  from  beginning  to  end.  My  beautiful  life,  my 
happiness,  all  a  lie." 

Hildred  forced  words.  "No.  If  you  were  happy, 
you  were  happy.  You  had  that." 

"Hush,  child.  How  should  you  know  what  I  had, 
or  what  I  've  lost?"  She  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands,  her  body  shaken  by  long,  tearless  sobs.  "Oh, 
God!  Oh,  God!" 

Hildred  was  miserably  silent.  She  would  have 
given  much  to  be  able  to  comfort  this  sorrow  which 
lay  too  deep  for  tears,  but  she  was  helpless.  The  call 
of  her  blood  forced  her  to  share  in  the  wrong  done 
to  one  who  had  given  her  best  to  both.  But  still, 


396        The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

there  in  the  hot  sunshine  the  whole  scene  was  tinged 
with  unreality,  and  Hildred  longed  vaguely  for  any- 
thing that  would  end  it,  and  bring  about  normality 
once  more.  She  had  an  odd  feeling  that  if  anything 
happened  she  would  awake  and  find  that  it  had  all 
been  some  impossible  incredible  nightmare. 

The  sight  of  the  proud  head  humiliated  to  the  dust, 
the  hidden,  tortured  lips  crying  low  upon  God,  hurt 
her  with  an  actual  physical  pain.  Tears  rolled  silently 
down  her  cheeks.  She  did  not  think  of  wiping  them 
away. 

Then  something  happened.  A  voice  called  in  a 
husky  whisper :  ' '  Hesper  B  elhasard ! ' ' 

Hesper  started  and  looked  around  her  with  wild 
terrified  eyes,  seeking  escape  and  finding  none. 

"I  can't  go.     I  can't,"  she  cried  hoarsely. 

The  voice  called  again.     Hildred  moved  forward. 

"Can  I ?" 

Again  Hesper  looked  about  her  desperately. 

"No,  he  does  n't  expect  you.  It  might —  Oh, 
how  can  I  go?" 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  again. 

"Do  let  me." 

"  No,  it  is  me  he  wants. " 

The  voice  called  a  third  time,  strained,  petulant, 
and  Nanno  hurried  round  the  corner  of  the  verandah 
in  evident  agitation. 

"Oh,  Miss  Hesper,  ma'am,  I  've  been  looking  for 
you.  The  master —  "  she  stopped  at  the  sight  of  the 
two  white  faces,  the  evident  tension. 

Hesper  drew  a  long  breath,  a  sigh  that  was  half  a 
sob. 

"Here  is  Miss  Ivors,  Nanno.     Be  very  good  to  her. 


Many  Waters  397 

She  is  worn  out.  She — her  journey — take  care  of  her. 
Coming,  Ingram." 

She  went  up  the  steps  and  along  the  verandah, 
slowly,  with  dragging  feet,  a  heavy  travesty  of  her 
usual  free  gait.  She  would  have  given  all  that  she 
possessed  to  have  been  able  to  creep  away  into  some 
remote  corner  where  she  could  wrestle  in  solitude 
with  what  had  befallen  her,  where  she  could  find  her 
soul  again  among  the  ruins  of  her  life.  If  only  she 
need  not  have  faced  Ingram  for  one  brief  hour. 

She  paused  at  the  open  window  of  his  room,  sup- 
porting herself  with  a  hand  on  either  side.  The 
evening  sun  shining  behind  her  threw  her  shadow 
athwart  the  polished  floor  in  the  form  of  a  cross.  So 
Ivors,  looking  towards  her,  saw  her  against  the  golden 
glow. 

Their  eyes  met. 

In  that  instant  Ivors  remembered  all  that  had  gone 
before — his  sin,  his  chances  of  confession,  his  fears, 
his  vacillation ,  his  incessant  punishment .  Now  stand- 
ing on  the  borderland  as  he  did,  his  vision  suddenly 
pierced  the  cloud  of  things  that  are,  and  read  in  Hes- 
per's  eyes  that  she  too  knew.  Caught  in  the  meshes 
of  a  great  fear,  mute,  incapable  of  speech  or  motion, 
in  that  tense  moment  of  clearer  vision  he  realised  what 
he  had  wrought  upon  the  one  being  who  really  loved 
him,  and  all  his  soul,  crying  dumbly  in  self-abasement, 
pleaded  through  his  eyes,  craved,  besought. 

Time  was  burnt  like  a  scroll  in  the  flame  of  the  spirit 
that  rose  between  them;  silence  and  the  things  of 
earth  passed  away,  and  the  soul  of  the  sinner  saw  for 
his  punishment,  the  soul  of  the  sinned-against  cry  out 
against  him  before  the  Throne  of  Judgment,  for  the 


398         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

beautiful  things  he  had  deliberately  murdered,  her 
faith,  her  trust,  her  love. 

Fearing  all  things,  hoping  nothing,  the  whole 
strength  of  his  ebbing  life  was  concentrated  on  the 
supreme  effort  of  entreating  Hesper's  forgiveness. 

She  stood  and  met  that  look.  Gradually  all  thought 
of  self  shrivelled  before  the  fire  of  the  spirit.  Agony, 
disillusion,  sense  of  betrayal  were  consumed  in  that 
pure  flame,  and  all  she  remembered  was  that  he,  her 
dearest,  was  ill,  dying  perhaps,  and  that  he  needed 
her.  His  tense,  white  stillness,  the  mute  agony  of  his 
gaze,  pleaded  more  powerfully  than  words. 

Oddly  enough,  his  speech  of  that  day  among  the 
golden  hills  flashed  back  to  her. 

'"Does  God  care  as  you  care?'  As  I  care.  How 
do  I  care?  Won't  He  judge  by  that?" 

"Belhasard?"  the  voice  was  a  mere  thread,  a 
husky,  anguished  question. 

She  stumbled  across  the  room  to  him  with  a  little 
inarticulate  murmur.  In  a  moment  her  arms  were 
round  him. 

"You  forgive?"  his  eyes  asked. 

"  Sure,  you  know  I  love  you, "  she  cried,  holding  him 
to  her  as  if  she  would  never  let  him  go,  having  said  all. 


CHAPTER  X 

ANOTHER  ASPECT  OF  THE  PROBLEM 

THAT  night  Ivors  lay  between  life  and  death. 
To  Hesper,  who  watched,  the  barrier  seemed 
frail  as  spun  glass  and  the  night  dark  with  the  shadow- 
ing wings  of  the  Angel  of  the  Asphodel.  Everything 
paled  before  the  fear  of  losing  him.  She  thought 
nothing  of  her  wrong  as  she  wrought  with  the  dark 
angel  for  his  life,  and  her  heart  was  wrung  as  his  husky 
whispers,  half-sane,  half-delirious  betrayed  the  fear 
that  had  accompanied  him  as  closely  as  his  own  foot- 
steps. 

Over  and  over  again  came  the  words — 

"  She  cannot  leave  me  now.  She  will  not  leave  me 
now.  She  would  have  left  me  in  the  beginning  if  I 
had  told  her.  I  know  she  would.  She  is  good.  She 
is  without  sin.  I  have  made  her  sin.  No,  it  is  I  who 
have  sinned.  She  is  good.  She  will  not  leave  me  now. 
Hesper  Belhasard.  .  .  .  ' 

So  ever  and  again  round  an  endless  circle,  selfish 
love  whipped  by  fear. 

Hesper  saw  the  love  but  not  the  selfishness,  in  that 
divine  blindness  which  dulls  the  critical  faculty  in 
women  who  love  as  she  did.  Her  voice,  her  touch 
were  ever  ready  to  sooth  and  comfort.  Her  patience 
welled  inexhaustibly. 

399 


4oo         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

Once  the  murmuring  voice  broke  into  a  laugh  and 
startled  her ;  the  sound  chimed  so  incongruously  with 
the  heaviness  of  her  thoughts. 

The  weak  fingers  sought  and  clung  tenaciously  to 
her  hand. 

"What  if  the  friend  happen  to  be  God?"  said  Ivors 
very  distinctly.  Then  he  feebly  put  her  hand  under 
his  cheek,  turned  on  it,  and  went  to  sleep. 

Hesper  could  not  move  when  he  awoke.  She  was 
cramped  and  helpless,  and  Dr.  Ayrton  and  Moussa 
carried  her  to  her  room  while  Nanno  took  charge  of 
the  patient. 

"  I  '11  be  very  good,"  Ivors  said.  "  I  '11  make  Nanno 
tell  me  stories  in  her  comfortable  brogue,  and  I 
promise  not  to  ask  for  Hesper,  until  I  feel  that  I  really 
cannot  exist  a  moment  longer  without  her." 

"You'll  be  good  enough  to  speak  when  you're 
spoken  to  and  not  till  then,"  said  Dr.  Ayrton  gruffly. 
"You  've  gone  back  points  since  yesterday." 

"I  'm  going  to  get  well  now,"  retorted  Ivors,  with 
his  old  smile. 

"See  that  you  do.  It  will  be  the  best  return  you 
can  make  your  poor  wife  for  her  devotion. " 

His  poor  wife!  How  sweet,  how  piercingly  sweet, 
the  words  sounded!  She  would  not  leave  him.  She 
was  his  wife  in  the  sight  of  God,  and  it  was  one  of  the 
bitterest  pangs  of  his  punishment  that  he  could  not 
make  her  so  in  the  eyes  of  man. 

Another  pang  pricked  him — would  his  recovery 
really  be  the  best  thing  for  Hesper?  Would  she 
...  he  wondered.  In  his  weakness  slow  tears 
rolled  down  his  thin  cheeks. 

Nanno,  startled,  came  and  wiped  them  away. 


Another  Aspect  of  the  Problem    401 

"Now,  sir,  you  mustn't  be  frettin'.  Sure,  a  hot 
bath  and  a  bit  of  a  rest  will  make  the  mistress  like 
herself  again.  'T  is  only  the  way  she  is  a  bit  stiff-like 
from  sittin '  in  the  one  position  so  long. " 

" Have  I  hurt  her  again?     I  did  n't  know." 

"Sure,  'twas  nothin'  at  all,  sir,  only  the  way  she 
could  n't  stir  for  fear  of  disturbin'  you  in  your  sleep. " 

"  Even  in  my  sleep, "  he  murmured.  "  I  must  hurt 
her  even  in  my  sleep." 

"  Now,  sir,  'tis  a  shame  for  you  to  be  talkin'.  Beside 
Miss  Hesper  is  one  o'  them  that  would  rather  have  a 
hurt  from  the  one  they  love  than  a  kiss  from  e'er 
another." 

"  You  need  n't  tell  me  what  she  is, "  he  said,  with  a 
flash  of  his  old  spirit. 

Then  he  lay  silent  for  an  infinity  of  time,  longing  to 
see  her  again,  to  know  that  she  was  within  sight  and 
touch,  craving  for  her  mere  physical  presence  with  the 
intense  disproportionate  desire  of  the  invalid. 

"  How  long  is  it  since  they  left  the  room?  "  he  asked 
suddenly. 

"Just  ten  minutes,  sir." 

"Ten  minutes!"  he  groaned.  "And  I  meant  to 
have  done  without  her  for  an  hour!" 

"Would  you  like  to  see  the  young  lady,  sir?" 

"Is  Hildred  here?"  he  asked  languidly.  He  felt 
no  sensation,  neither  surprise  nor  pleasure.  It  did  not 
seem  to  matter  whether  she  were  here  or  not.  Nothing 
mattered  except  Hesper. 

Dr.  Ayrton  came  suddenly  into  the  room,  and  stood 
by  the  bedside  looking  silently  down  on  him  for  a 
moment. 

"  So  you  Ve  an  addition  to  your  battalion  of  nurses ! " 
26 


402         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

he  said  at  last.  "  We  '11  have  to  dismiss  this  one.  She 
lets  you  talk  too  much.  If  I  allow  your  daughter  in 
to  see  you  will  you  promise  not  to  let  it  agitate  you? 
If  you  talk  or  get  excited  I  shall  forbid  her  the  room  for 
the  present." 

"  I  promise, "  he  answered.  "  Hildred  will  be  a  nice 
cool  person  to  look  at." 

"Very  well,  then." 

Ivors  did  not  realise  what  lay  between  him  and  Hil- 
dred. He  vaguely  connected  her  coming  with  Hesper's 
knowledge,  but  the  thought  had  no  power  to  trouble 
him.  Hesper  knew ;  she  loved  him ;  she  had  forgiven 
him.  That  was  all  that  mattered.  She  would  not 
leave  him.  But  she  had  left  him!  Oh,  how  he  wanted 
her! 

He  groaned  again,  and  moved  feebly.  In  an  instant 
Nanno  was  bending  over  him. 

"What  is  it,  acuth?  "  she  asked,  as  if  he  were  a  child. 

"I  want  Hesper,"  he  murmured  with  closed  eyes. 

"  She  '11  come  to  you  the  very  minute  she  's  able,  sir. 
Sure  she  's  been  watchin'  all  night,  and  she  must  have 
a  bit  to  eat,  the  poor  lamb. " 

"I  won't  be  selfish,  but  tell  her  to  come  as  soon  as 
she  can.      If  she  only  knew  how  I  wanted  her — ' 
he  sighed  heavily. 

It  was  with  mingled  feelings  that  Hildred  received 
Dr.  Ayrton's  summons. 

She  had  realised  that  sooner  or  later  she  would  have 
to  face  her  father,  and  she  shrank  inexpressibly  from 
the  ordeal.  She  had  slept  the  sleep  of  exhaustion  dur- 
ing the  night,  and  the  watchers  had  not  disturbed  her; 
therefore  she  was  rested  in  body  and  consequently 


Another  Aspect  of  the  Problem    403 

capable  of  clearer  perception  than  she  had  been  when 
the  long  strain  of  her  journey  had  culminated  in  the 
final  blow. 

Although  she  had  never  idealised  her  father  the 
shock  was  a  severe  one,  and  the  old  sense  of  resentment 
arose  within  her  when  she  thought  that  she  was  the 
medium  through  which  the  wound  of  knowledge  had 
been  dealt  to  Hesper. 

Through  a  woman's  eyes  she  had  seen,  as  thrice 
before,  a  glimpse  of  the  depths  so  carefully  hidden 
beneath  the  surface;  she  had  seen  a  soul  in  anguish 
and  it  was  her  innocent  hand  which  had  struck  the 
blow.  Verily,  the  sins  of  the  fathers.  .  .  . 

"Oh,  it's  unfair!  It's  unfair!"  she  cried  with 
clenched  hands. 

To  the  clear,  pitiless  eyes  of  youth  no  extenuating 
circumstances  appeared.  Her  father  had  deliberately 
sinned  against  Hesper,  against  her  mother,  and  against 
herself.  He  had,  with  all  the  arts  at  his  command — 
and  they  were  many  and  insidious,  the  girl  acknow- 
ledged to  herself  with  a  bitter  little  smile — striven  to 
win  a  love  to  which  he  had  no  right,  legally  or  morally. 
He  had  sinned  against  Heaven  and  before  the  world, 
and  had  humbled  and  brought  to  the  dust  the  proud- 
est woman  Hildred  had  ever  known.  Three  character- 
istics of  Hesper  rose  saliently  before  her,  pride,  purity, 
and  generosity,  in  its  widest  sense.  At  each  of  these 
had  he  struck.  Two  he  had  slain,  thought  the  stern 
young  judge,  and  the  third  he  had  wounded  past 
belief.  She  would  never  forget  how  Hesper  had 
looked  yesterday,  never,  never,  never.  She  thought 
she  now  knew  something  of  what  one  would  feel  who 
had  slain  unwittingly.  And  her  father,  who  had 


404         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

committed  the  crime,  who  had  done  this  incredibly 
wicked,  cruel  thing,  had  slipped  away  from  the 
consequences,  and  made  himself,  by  his  illness  and 
weakness,  the  centre  of  his  universe  as  usual. 

What  rankled  most  in  Hildred  was  the  sense  of  in- 
justice done;  that  she,  who  had  left  her  beloved  work 
in  England  to  rush  off  to  Egypt,  hot  haste,  in  response 
to  her  father's  wish,  should  have  been  chosen  to  deal 
this  blow  to  one  for  whom  she  really  cared,  and  that 
he,  with  his  usual  selfish  facility,  should  have  shuffled 
the  burden  of  his  responsibility  on  to  the  shoulders 
of  another. 

In  that  bitter  moment  the  girl  felt  that  she  hated  the 
two  beings  who  had  given  her  birth :  that  she  was  the 
most  cruelly  wronged  of  all.  Hesper  had  had  her  few 
months  of  perfect  happiness — "the  beautiful  life  that 
was  all  a  lie!"  What  a  world  of  sad  suggestion  the 
simple  words  conveyed!  Her  mother  could  not  be 
really  affected  by  any  action  of  her  father's.  It  was 
she  who  was  the  tool  of  their  circumstances,  she  who 
was  flung  about  like  a  shuttle-cock  by  their  caprices. 
Was  she  never  to  have  any  life  of  her  own? 

The  thought  of  Dr.  Lisle,  who  had  seen  her  off  at 
Waterloo,  flashed  suddenly  across  her  mind  and 
brought  a  quick  sense  of  warmth  to  her  sore  heart. 

"My  cage  of  dreams  is  very  strong  now,"  he  had 
said,  with  an  odd  fire  in  his  blue  eyes,  "and  very  full. 
If  I  show  them  to  you  when  you  come  back  will  you 
promise  not  to  open  the  door  and  let  them  fly  away?" 

"Isn't  it  rather  a  pity  to  keep  them  caged?"  she 
had  answered — a  soft  young  Hildred  who  was  known 
only  to  this  little  brown  man. 

"  You  must  n't  let  them  go  again. " 


Another  Aspect  of  the  Problem    405 

"Again?" 

"Have  you  forgotten  that  day  in  the  wood?"  he 
asked  in  return.  "The  day  we  feasted  on  wild  fruit? 
The  day  I  had — my  hour?" 

"Did  I,  then?"  she  asked  flushing. 

He  nodded.  "What's  more,  you  clapped  your 
hands  to  make  them  fly  all  the  faster. "  He  took  one 
of  the  offending  hands  in  his  as  he  spoke.  "Do  you 
think  you  have  grown  any  wiser?" 

She  blushed  deeper.     "I — don't  know." 

At  that  moment  Time,  the  mischief-maker,  had 
caused  the  guard  to  blow  his  whistle. 

"Good-bye,"  said  Dr.  Lisle.  "Take  care  of  your- 
self. I  hope  you  will  find  your  father  better,  also 
that  you  will  seek  wisdom  in  the  East. " 

"  I  '11  look  for  it,  at  any  rate. " 

"Whatever  you  find  be  sure  to  come  back — to  me, " 
she  thought  he  added,  but  his  last  words  were  lost  in 
the  movement  of  the  train. 

The  thought,  indefinite  as  it  was,  softened  her.  Dr. 
Lisle  was  the  one  person  who  always  understood.  He, 
at  all  events,  desired  her  friendship.  She  stood  for 
something  in  his  life.  What  was  the  true  wisdom? 
Where  should  she  seek  it? 

At  this  moment  Dr.  Ayrton  broke  in  upon  her 
musings  with  his  summons. 

He  glanced  approvingly  at  her  trim,  white-clad 
figure,  her  clear  look  of  health,  and  her  soft  fair 
hair. 

"No  agitation,  my  dear  young  lady,"  he  said. 

"I  am  a  nurse  myself,"  she  replied  with  a  touch 
of  dignified  reproof  which  amused  him  vastly.  "At 
least  I  am  learning  to  be  one. " 


406         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

"Then  you  ought  to  know  something  of  the  great 
essentials,  patience  and  sympathy,"  he  retorted. 
"Your  father  is  in  a  precarious  state.  Humanly 
speaking  it  is  your  mother  who  has  kept  him  alive." 
A  slight  stiffening  of  the  girlish  figure  checked  him. 

"She  's  not  your  mother,  surely?" 

"No." 

"  I  thought  not.  She  's  too  young  to  be  anything 
but  your  step-mother.  Your  father 's  a  lucky  man. 
She's  a  fine  creature,  a  fine  creature,"  he  repeated 
musingly.  Then  he  stopped  and  looked  at  Hildred. 

"  She  's  nearly  worn  out  now.  I  see  a  great  change 
in  her  even  since  yesterday.  You  must  take  care  of 
her  now  that  you  've  come.  Ivors  will  hardly  let  her 
out  of  his  sight,  and  she  has  no  thought  but  for  him. 
She  is  absolutely  selfless." 

"It's  not  an  Ivors's  failing,"  said  Hildred.  The 
hardness  of  her  tone  surprised  the  doctor. 

"  Ah,  you  Ve  got  to  learn  men  and  women  yet, "  was 
all  he  said.  "We  're  all  only  human  beings  at  best, 
and  I  daresay  Mrs.  Ivors  has  her  flaws  as  well  as  the 
rest  of  us.  I  'm  bound  to  say,  though,  I  Ve  never  seen 
'em.  Here  we  are.  There  's  nothing  to  be  frightened 
of." 

Hildred  paused  upon  the  threshold,  shrinking  from 
the  inevitable.  Her  heart  beat  quickly  and  she  would 
have  given  worlds  to  be  able  to  run  away. 

"This  is  sheer  cowardice,"  she  thought  to  herself. 
"It  must  be  done." 

She  lifted  her  head  and  went  in. 

The  room  with  its  round  Moorish  arches  looked  big, 
and  bare,  and  dim,  as  everything  that  could  exclude 
the  air  had  been  removed.  The  French  windows 


407 

which  opened  on  to  the  verandah  had  their  green  sun- 
shutters  down,  but  here  and  there  a  shaft  of  sunlight 
penetrated  and  shone  in  a  little  dancing  pool  of  light 
on  the  polished  boards. 

Ivors's  bed  was  drawn  near  one  of  the  windows,  and 
he  lay  white  and  still  amid  its  whiteness.  Hildred  had 
expected  to  see  a  change  from  the  debonair  man  from 
whom  she  had  parted,  not  without  a  qualm,  in  Cairo, 
but  the  reality  came  with  a  shock.  All  vitality  seemed 
to  be  concentrated  in  his  eyes — the  thin  limbs,  sunken 
cheeks,  and  damp  hair  seemed  to  have  little  left  of 
life — and  those  eyes,  dark  and  wistful,  met  Hildred's 
as  she  entered,  with  the  mute  appeal  of  a  dog's. 

"Is  that  you,  little  girl?"  he  said  in  a  husky 
whisper. 

She  sprang  forward,  all  her  bitter  thoughts  melting 
into  pity. 

"Oh,  father!  father!"  she  cried,  stooping  to  kiss 
him. 

"Sit  there,  and  let  me  look  at  you,"  he  said. 

Nanno  brought  a  basket  chair  forward. 

"Not  that  horrid  thing,  it  creaks.  Oh,  no,  not  on 
the  end  of  my  bed.  I  can't  bear  people  to  sit  on  my 
bed." 

"Not  so  much  talking,  my  good  man,"  put  in  Dr. 
Ayrton.  "You  may  look  at  Miss  Ivors  as  much  as 
you  like,  but  unlimited  conversation  is  not  allowed. 
Now  remember."  He  went  away. 

Hildred  noticed  a  wicker-covered  flask  of  eau-de- 
cologne  on  a  table.  "  Would  you  like  me  to  put  some 
of  that  on  your  forehead?"  she  asked.  "I  could  fan 
you  after.  It 's  very  cooling." 

"Thanks." 


408         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

She  deftly  touched  him  with  the  tips  of  her  fingers, 
soothingly  moving  his  lank  hair. 

"You  've  nice  hands,"  he  murmured  after  a  while. 
"I  always  said  so." 

Everything  still  bore  an  air  of  unreality  to  Hildred. 
She  had  never  imagined  that  people  could  touch 
tragedy  so  quietly.  She  did  not  yet  realise  the  nar- 
cotic power  of  illness,  and  had  never  come  in  contact 
with  the  broken  words  and  halting  phrases  with  which 
the  proud  decently  cover  their  hurt,  jealous  of  its  sight 
by  any  eyes  other  than  their  own. 

That  her  father  could  still  be  impatient,  petulant, 
came  to  her  with  a  little  shock  of  surprise. 

Her  months  among  the  children  had  taught  her  a 
good  deal  and  broadened  her  mental  outlook,  but  she 
had  still  much  to  learn. 

"Think  largely,"  Mrs.  Marston,  the  matron,  used 
to  say  to  her.  "Even  the  wisest  person  only  sees 
life  from  a  limited  standpoint,  so  it  behoves  us  all  to 
try  to  think  largely." 

She  would  try  to  think  largely  now,  to  readjust  her 
old  rigid  standards  of  right  and  wrong  to  this  new  com- 
plex problem,  to  realise  the  inner  meaning  of  the 
tragedy  in  which  they  were  all  involved,  and  above  all 
not  to  condemn  too  harshly. 

Ivors  grew  restless.  He  moved  his  head  upon  the 
pillow ;  he  raised  weak  hands  and  let  them  fall  again ; 
he  coughed  huskily ;  he  sighed. 

"What  is  it?"  Hildred  asked. 

"Hesper,"  he  answered.  "I  really  cannot  do 
without  her  for  one  moment  longer.  I  have  been  a 
marvel  of  patience,  but  not  a  second  more.  Go  and 
tell  her." 


Another  Aspect  of  the  Problem    409 

"But  she's  tired.  She — you  ought — "  began 
Hildred  disapprovingly. 

Ivors  looked  up  at  her  with  a  glance  which  mingled 
his  old  whimsicality  with  a  new  and  yearning  de- 
precation. 

"O  wise  young  judge,"  he  whispered  hoarsely. 
"You  can't  afford  to  cast  a  stone.  Why  did  you 
ever  leave  me?" 

"Father!"  Hildred  gasped,  flushed,  and  went 
hurriedly  out  of  the  room. 

It  was  the  final  touch — to  make  her  responsible  for 
his  weakness,  to  saddle  her  with  his  sins,  to  rate  her 
omission,  if  it  were  an  omission,  with  his  commission, 
to  reproach  her,  whom  he  had  wronged  among  the  rest. 

Still,  under  his  words  lay  a  truth  which  pierced  and 
stung;  an  Ithuriel  truth  whose  spear- touch  revealed 
her  own  self-deception,  and  brought  home  the  fact 
that  she,  too,  might  have  erred;  that  she,  too,  was  not 
without  reproach;  that,  as  her  father  had  said,  she 
should  not  be  the  first  to  cast  a  stone. 

If  she  had  remained  with  him  this  could  never  have 
happened.  With  a  tingling  conscience  she  remem- 
bered the  hint  of  appeal  in  his  manner  at  Luxor;  the 
half -confidence,  the  request  that  he  would  not  make, 
to  which  she  had  deliberately  shut  her  ears.  Was  it 
possible  that  instead  of  being  noble  and  self-sacrificing 
in  her  desire  to  devote  her  life  to  the  sick  and  suffering 
she  had  but  echoed  the  selfishness  which  she  so 
strongly  condemned? 

All  the  things  which  had  made  her  life  beautiful,  her 
dreams,  her  love  of  art,  her  aspiration,  suddenly  fell 
away.  She  was  face  to  face  with  the  naked  truth  now, 
and  she  could  not  look  at  it  unashamed. 


410         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

Hastily  summoning  Moussa  she  gave  him  the 
message  for  Hesper,  and  went  out  to  the  side  of  the 
verandah  which  was  in  shadow  to  take  counsel 
with  her  surging  thoughts,  alone. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  SOLUTION 

WHEN  Ivors  slept  that  afternoon  Hesper  went 
in  search  of  Hildred.  She  found  her  curled 
up  on  a  big  divan  in  the  drawing-room  near  a  latticed 
window  reading  a  letter. 

The  girl  sprang  up  as  she  entered. 

"You  look  half  dead,"  she  cried.  "Rest  here  on 
the  divan  and  put  your  feet  up. " 

"I  am  half  dead,"  answered  Hesper  quietly,  "but 
it  does  n't  matter.  Don't  move,  child.  I  have  been 
resting  on  the  couch  in  your  father's  room.  He  is 
asleep  now,  so  I  slipped  away.  I  wanted  to  see 
you." 

Her  voice  was  dull,  toneless;  she  bore  the  same 
resemblance  to  the  woman  who  had  welcomed  Hildred 
yesterday  as  a  waxen  image  does  to  its  living  proto- 
type. Some  spring  seemed  to  have  been  broken 
within  her,  some  vital  essence  destroyed.  Her  answer 
to  Hildred's  comment  sounded  startlingly  true.  She 
looked  half  dead,  and  her  voice,  when  she  spoke, 
seemed  to  come  from  far  away. 

"I  wanted  to  see  you,"  she  said  again.  "I  think 
it  is  better  to  talk  this  thing  out." 

"Oh,  must  we?"  cried  Hildred,  shrinking. 

4U 


412         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

"  I  think  we  must.  The  fact  of  shutting  one's  eyes 
and  pretending  a  thing  is  n't  there  won't  prevent  it 
from  staring  us  in  the  face  the  moment  we  open  them 
again.  I  thought  we  might  confront  it  once  for  all, 
and  then — "  she  raised  her  hands  and  let  them  fall 
with  a  gesture  of  finality. 

"As  you  like,"  answered  Hildred  uncomfortably. 
"You  are  the  person  to  be  considered.  It  is  your 
right " 

" Don't!"  Hesper  sat  for  a  moment  looking  at  her 
wedding-ring  and  turning  it  mechanically  on  her 
finger.  Then  she  lifted  her  head  suddenly.  "What 
is  your  mother  to  you,  Hildred?" 

The  girl  reddened  from  neck  to  brow. 

"An  instinct,  no  more,"  she  answered,  crumpling 
the  letter  she  held  in  her  hand  with  a  quick  fierce 
gesture. 

"  Can  you  tell  me  anything — of  the  circumstances — 
I  don't  want  to  hurt  you,  but  I  must  ask — this  once. " 

"I — they — "  the  girl  paused  awkwardly. 

"  Can't  you  see  that  I  want  some  reasons,  something 
to  make  me  understand?"  said  Hesper  in  quickened 
tones.  "I  want  to  understand." 

Her  voice  broke  pitifully  and  Hildred  in  response 
told  her  what  she  knew,  all  the  bald,  ugly  story  of 
selfishness  and  neglect  of  duty. 

"  My  mother  loves  no  one  except  her  dogs, "  Hildred 
concluded  warmly.  "I  wrote  to  her  before  I  came 
away  to  tell  her  about — about  father,  and  I  have  just 
had  this  letter  from  her.  Will  you  read  it,  just  to  see 
her  point  of  view,  or  will  it  hurt  you?" 

"Nothing  else  can  ever  hurt  me." 

Hildred  handed  her  the  letter.     "It  was  written 


The  Solution  413 

shortly  after  I  started,  but  it  travelled  quicker  than  I 
did.  I  am  glad,  glad  that  I  arrived  before  I  got  it. 
I  want  to  be  your  friend,  Hesper,  if  you  will  let  me." 

"That's  generous  of  you,  child,"  said  Hesper, 
opening  the  letter. 

It  displayed  a  cold  disregard  for  her  husband's 
health  and  deplored  the  flightiness  of  Hildred's  mind 
which  had  led  her  to  abandon  her  chosen  career  and 
dash  off  half  across  the  world  because  her  father 
imagined  himself  to  be  ill.  It  was  short  and  was 
signed  "your  sincere  H.  D.  Ivors,"  but,  like  a  scorpion, 
its  sting  lay  in  its  tail.  There  was  a  long  and  hastily- 
added  postscript,  tacked  on  because  she  had  not  time 
to  write  another  letter  to  catch  that  mail.  She  had 
met  the  Waveneys,  she  said,  and  Laura  had  been 
coming  to  tell  her  a  shocking  piece  of  news  which  she 
had  heard  from  a  cousin  who  was  staying  at  the 
Cataract  Hotel  at  Assuan.  "Not  to  put  too  fine  a 
point  on  it,  it  was  to  the  effect  that  your  father  is 
living  with  a  woman  on  some  island  near  the  place.  I 
will  not  presume  to  dictate,  Hildred,  but  I  hope  that 
you  will  have  sufficient  sense  of  what  is  due  to  yourself 
to  leave  the  place  at  once.  Wire  me  what  boat  you  are 
coming  by  and  I  will  meet  you."  A  cheque  for  fifty 
pounds  dropped  out  of  the  envelope,  as  Hesper 
replaced  the  letter  with  trembling  fingers. 

In  spite  of  her  brave  assertion  there  still  remained  a 
vulnerable  spot,  and  this  letter  had  hurt  it  cruelly. 
In  the  midst  of  her  pain  and  grief  she  had  never 
dreamed  for  a  moment  that  any  one  could  consider  her 
sinful  or  her  presence  contaminating.  The  conven- 
tional, uncomprehending  view  of  the  situation  had 
never  occurred  to  her,  and  the  thought  that  any  one 


414         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

could  consider  her  purity  smirched  was  a  new  and 
stinging  revelation.  She  turned  away  her  face  for  a 
moment  to  hide  her  quivering  lips,  and  gradually  the 
lesser  pain  merged  into  the  greater. 

"  She  is  a  hard,  narrow  woman, "  cried  Hildred.  "  I 
don't  want  her  money.  I  have  plenty  of  my  own.  She 
does  not  know  how  cruelly  wronged  you  have  been. " 

"Hush!  She  is  hard  and  narrow,  perhaps,  but  she 
is  your  mother,  Hildred. " 

"She  has  never  been  a  mother  to  me,  any  more  than 
she  was  a  wife  to  him. " 

At  that  Hesper  drew  herself  erect,  and  a  light  burned 
in  her  eyes. 

"Ah,  there,"  she  said,  speaking  quickly,  "there  she 
has  much  to  be  forgiven.  If  it  comes  to  that,  it  is 
she  who  is  living  in  sin  rather  than  I.  She,  a  married 
woman,  ought  to  have  realised  something  of  the 
temptations  to  which  she  exposed  him  when  she  cast 
him  adrift,  young  and  impetuous  as  he  was.  She 
sinned  against  God  and  man,  against  him  and  you, 
when  she  did  so.  She  broke  her  solemn  promises  to 
satisfy  her  own  selfish  pride.  The  sin  is  hers,  not 
mine.  I  deny  that  I  have  sinned,  that  I  am  sin- 
ning—  "  she  stopped. 

Hildred  was  flushed  and  troubled;  her  thoughts 
were  incoherent,  her  sympathies  swayed. 

"But  what  will  you  do  eventually?"  she  asked  at 
last,  feeling  to  the  full  the  awkwardness  of  such  a 
question.  "Will  you — surely  you  will — leave  him?" 

"I  will  never  leave  him." 

"But " 

"  He  will  leave  me, "  said  Hesper  very  low. 

Hildred  gasped.     This  solution  had  not  occurred  to 


The  Solution  415 

her.  Yet,  though  the  words  came  as  a  shock,  she 
realised,  subconsciously,  that  they  were  not  altogether 
a  surprise,  for  she  had  seen  a  shadow  on  her  father's 
face — a  shadow  with  which  her  winter's  work  had 
sadly  familiarised  her. 

"Are  you  sure?" 

"Quite  sure.  Dr.  Ayrton  told  me  so  to-day." 
Then  her  calm  broke  and  she  covered  her  face  with 
her  hands.  "Oh,  God,  he  will  leave  me,  and  I  shall 
be  alone  in  a  cold  world  again. " 

Hildred  put  her  arms  round  her.  Her  heart  was 
wrung  at  the  sight  of  Hesper's  grief.  It  seemed  so 
pitifully  hard  that  she,  the  innocent,  should  suffer  so 
poignantly,  while  those  who  had  wronged  her — she 
paused  on  the  thought.  How  did  she  know  what 
her  father  had  endured?  How  could  any  one  even 
dimly  conjecture  the  processes  of  another's  mind,  the 
bitterness  of  another's  pangs?  In  the  eyes  of  the 
world  Hesper  had  wronged  her  mother,  while,  to  those 
who  knew,  it  was  Mrs.  Ivors  who  had,  indirectly, 
wronged  Hesper.  It  was  the  stone  thrown  into  the 
pool  of  life,  whose  circles,  ever  widening,  touched  other 
circles  undreamed  of. 

Who  could  tell?  Who  should  dare  to  judge?  So 
some  sense  of  the  scope  of  life  and  its  larger  issues 
came  to  the  girl's  troubled  mind. 

Hesper  disengaged  herself  gently,  and  looked  up 
with  dry  burning  eyes. 

"  Don't  be  kind  to  me.  I  can't  afford  to  give  way 
just  now.  He  needs  me  too  sorely." 

"Hesper,  do  you  ever  think  of  yourself?"  cried 
Hildred,  wondering  at  a  greater  love  than  her  starved 
life  had  ever  seen. 


4i 6         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

"I  think  of  myself  when  I  think  of  him,"  Hesper 
answered.  "It  is  all  the  same.  It  was  that  way 
almost  from  the  beginning.  We  are  really  one, 
Hildred." 

"You  feel  like  that  for  father?"  All  the  wonder  of 
one  generation  at  the  needs  and  desires  of  an  older 
rang  in  her  tone. 

"I  do.  Ah,  child,  how  should  you  understand?" 
she  drew  an  impatient  breath,  checked  herself,  and 
continued:  "We  have  given  each  other  what  no  one 
else  in  the  world  could  have  given  us.  I  would  have 
given  him  anything  I  had.  I  have  given  him  every- 
thing I  had."  She  raised  her  hands  again  and  let 
them  fall  with  the  same  hopeless  gesture.  "Without 
knowing. " 

"If  you  had  known?" 

"Ah,  how  could  I  answer  such  a  question  now?" 
She  turned  her  ring  again,  and  Hildred  noticed  how 
thin  her  hands  had  grown. 

"Hildred " 

"Yes?" 

" Do  you  want — to  stay?" 

"To  stay?" 

Hesper  looked  up  with  a  sudden  red  flame  on  her 
cheek.  "I  never  thought — it  did  not  occur  to  me 
what — what  outside  people  might  think  or  say.  If — 
it  would  harm  you — in  any  way " 

"Harm  me  to  be  with  you?" 

Hesper  nodded,  shamed,  humiliated  beyond  words. 

The  girl  took  the  hand  with  the  ring  on  it  between 
her  own  two  warm  ones  and  kissed  it. 

"  I  am  proud  to  be  with  you, "  she  said,  tears  quick 
as  rain  falling  down  her  cheeks. 


The  Solution  417 

"Child,  you  mustn't  cry.  Don't!  I  can't  stand 
it." 

There  was  a  silence  in  the  room.  A  low  wind 
moaned  outside  and  filled  the  air  with  its  hot  breath. 
A  yellowish  haze  obscured  the  blue  of  the  sky,  and  the 
sakiyeh  creaked  and  purred  unaccompanied  to-day  by 
song. 

"  I  'm  afraid  it's  blowing  up  for  a  khamdsin, " 
said  Hesper.  "I  hate  these  hot  winds  and  these 
sand-storms.  Ingram  always  said  that  their  elec- 
tricity invigorated  him,  but  now — it 's  so  bad  for  him. 
You  are  good  to  me,  Hildred,"  she  said  suddenly. 
"It 's  such  an  impossible  situation  altogether.  Your 
mother " 

"  Don't  talk  of  her,  please. " 

"But  I  must  talk  of  her,"  Hesper  gently  in- 
sisted. "I  would  not  come  between  you  for  the 
world." 

"There  is  nothing  of  that  sort,"  Hildred  began. 

"Ah,  child,  there  is,"  Hesper  interposed.  "You, 
in  your  generosity,  are  all  for  championing  me,  and 
that  would  create  an  instant  breach." 

"There  is  a  breach  already." 

"Don't  widen  it,  then.  Your  mother  loves  you, 
Hildred.  You  are  all  she  has.  Don't  take  that  from 
her." 

"  I  assure  you  that  you  're  mistaken.  She  does  n't 
care  a  jot  for  me.  Games  and  dogs " 

"Ah,  no,  Hildred.  Those  who  love  always  know 
love  when  they  see  it.  I  saw  it  in  every  line  of  that 
cold,  hard  letter.  It  cried  out  in  jealousy  for  you,  in 
the  words  that  jibed  at  you  for  rushing  to  your  father 
away  from  her,  in  her  care  for  your  reputation,  in  her 
27 


418         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

thought  in  sending  you  money  which  you  might  need, 
in  her  wish  to  meet  you  on  your  return. " 

"  I  don't  want  her  money, "  cried  the  girl  resentfully. 
"  And  as  for  my  reputation  it  can't  be  worth  much  if 
it  is  so  easily  tarnished.  She  may  be  jealous,  as  you 
say " 

"Jealousy  implies  love,  Hildred.  It 's  the  mother 
instinct  asserting  itself  at  last. " 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"  I  Ve  been  face  to  face  with  big  things  lately, " 
answered  Hesper  simply,  "and  when  the  little  things 
are  stripped  away  one  sees  more  clearly.  Besides, 
there  's  a  lot  of  the  child  in  every  man.  Perhaps 
that 's  how  I  know." 

Hildred  looked  at  her  curiously.  "You  don't 
understand  my  mother,  Hesper.  You  have  nothing 
in  common  with  her  type. " 

"She's  a  woman,  isn't  she?  And  she's  your 
mother." 

"It's  odd  that  you  should  defend  her  to  me, 
Hesper. " 

Hesper  flushed  again.  "  Oh,  I  'm  not  defending  her. 
I  think  she  has  acted  both  wickedly  and  foolishly,  but 
I  have  a  great  pity  for  her  because  she  wilfully  threw 
away  the  best  things  of  life  and  picked  up  rubbish 
instead." 

All  at  once  the  girl  softened. 

1 '  You  're  a  good  woman, ' '  she  said.  ' '  A  good,  good 
woman." 

"Ah,  my  dear " 

Moussa  entered  noiselessly. 

"Master  awake.    Wants  the  sitt." 

Hesper  rose.     "Will  you  come,  child?" 


The  Solution  419 

"No,  he  doesn't  want  me,"  Hildred  answered. 
"No  one  really  wants  me,"  she  thought  as  Hesper 
hurriedly  left  the  room. 

Then  a  vision  of  her  mother  ready  to  come  and  meet 
her  was  evoked  by  Hesper's  words;  and  Dr.  Lisle's 
warm  insistence  on  her  return  suddenly  rang  in  her 
ears  with  more  than  a  tinge  of  reproach. 

She  smiled  to  herself  and  felt  vaguely  comforted. 
Then  remembering  the  shadow  of  death  which  brooded 
over  the  island  she  chid  herself  for  heartlessness, 
and  thought  anew  upon  the  depth  and  height  of 
Hesper's  love,  before  which  her  own  little  rush-light 
of  affection  paled  its  ineffectual  fire. 


CHAPTER  XII 

LOVE  TRIUMPHANT 

HESPER  found  Ivors  propped  up  in  bed  with 
pillows.       His    eyes    were   clear    and    bright, 
and  a  spot  of  colour  burned  in  either  cheek. 

He  greeted  her  with  a  smile  and  a  weak  air  of 
triumph — the  pitiful  travesty  of  his  former  buoyance. 

"I  got  Moussa  and  Nanno  to  lift  me  up.  I  felt 
choked  lying  down.  A  khamdsin  is  brewing,  I  think. 
I  feel  it  tingling  through  me." 

"As  usual,"  she  said,  sitting  down  next  him,  and 
speaking  in  her  softest  tones.  The  waves  of  her  black 
hair  were  loosened,  and  emphasised  the  whiteness  of 
her  face. 

"As  usual.  I  feel  ever  so  much  better.  If  old 
Ayrton  would  only  let  me  move  to  some  cooler  spot 
I  should  get  well  in  no  time. " 

"In  no  time,"  she  echoed,  the  sentence  ringing  in 
her  ears.  Then  she  roused  herself.  "You  are  not 
strong  enough  for  the  journey  yet,  dearest." 

"Am  I  still  your  dearest?"  he  asked  in  the  husky 
whisper  which  always  thrilled  her  with  fear.  It 
pierced  her  heart  to  hear  it,  yet  every  time  he  slept 
she  dreaded  lest  she  should  never  hear  it  again. 

"Always." 

420 


Love  Triumphant  421 

"Through  life  and  death?" 

"Through  life  and  death." 

"Up  in  your  high,  white  heaven?" 

"Up — "  her  voice  failed. 

"You'll  wait  there  till  I  come,  won't  you?"  he 
persisted. 

"For  ever  if  need  be." 

"Ah,  not  for  ever.  God  is  pitiful  to  sinners.  You 
taught  me  that. " 

"I?" 

"Ah,  beloved,  I  feel  all  the  more  because  I  cannot 
speak.  I  know.  I  repent.  If  you — if  you  can  forgive 
how  should  any  omniscient  God  be  less  merciful?" 

"  Hush,  my  very  dearest.  You  must  n't  talk.  You 
must  not  agitate  yourself." 

"  It  is  worse  for  me  to  keep  silent.  Just  this  once, 
Belhasard,  and  then  I  '11  do  everything  I  can  to  get 
well.  I  want  to  get  well  in  order  to — atone. " 

Every  word  hurt.  How  could  she  tell  him?  What 
did  it  matter  after  all?  Confession  had  been  made  for 
him;  she  had  forgiven;  by  the  light  of  her  love  he 
perceived  the  shadow  of  Love  Eternal. 

"If — I  had  told  you  beforehand  would  you  have 
left  me?"  he  whispered. 

"Why  worry  about  that  now?" 

"But  would  you?"  he  persisted. 

"I — think  so,"  she  answered  slowly,  stroking  the 
dry,  transparent  hand  she  held. 

"Then  I  'm  glad  I  did  n't,"  he  said  huskily. 

"So  am  I,"  she  answered,  flushing.  "It  may  be 
wicked  of  me,  but  I  am — glad — to  have  had  what  I 
had — all  those  beautiful  months,  all  that  wonderful 
happiness " 


422         The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

' '  Wicked  ?     You  ?  "  he  interrupted . 

"  Perhaps  it  is  n't  the  best  part  of  me  that 's  glad, " 
said  Hesper,  wistfully.  "  I  don't  know.  At  any  rate, 
for  a  time,  I  tasted  perfect  happiness.  That  is  more 
than  most  people  can  say.  You  gave  it  to  me. " 

She  hid  away  her  wounded  faith,  her  betrayed  trust. 
She  loved  him ;  the  matter  of  atonement  lay  between 
him  and  God.  She  loved  him,  and  she  must  lose  him. 

In  spite  of  her  words  some  sudden  apprehension 
seized  him. 

"You  won't  leave  me?"  he  pleaded,  clutching  at 
her  hand. 

"Never,  my  dearest,  never." 

"Ah,  I  never  felt  sure.  You  good  women — your 
sense  of  right  and  wrong  is  so  strong.  So " 

"Hush,  my  dearest.  I  am  sure  it  is  bad  for  you 
to  talk  so  much." 

A  sudden  fear  pricked  her  that  she  might  have  fallen 
in  his  estimation  by  consenting  so  easily  to  remain  with 
him. 

"  You  don't  think  any  the  worse  of  me?  "  she  began 
in  a  low  voice. 

"  My  fixed  star  shines  high  in  the  heaven  above  me, " 
he  answered,  understanding  at  once.  "  I  don't  know 
how  you  stooped  to  such  a  worm  as  I,  Hesper  Bel- 
hasard.  Do  you  remember  the  night  at  Minieh  when 
you  danced  into  my  heart?  You  came  lightly  in — 

' '  It  was  never  lightly.    I  strove  against  you  at  first . ' ' 

"It  was  no  use.  .  .  .  Now  you  know  why  I 
ran  away." 

"Now  I  know." 

"Now  you  understand  why  I  could  not  leave  you 
at  Capri." 


Love  Triumphant  423 

i 

Hesper  was  silent. 

"You  do,  don't  you?"  The  whisper  sharpened  a 
little,  and  he  tried  to  see  her  face. 

"Now — I — understand,"  she  cried  at  last  in  an- 
guish. "Oh,  Ingram — Ingram." 

She  hid  her  face  in  his  pillow.     Long  sobs  rent  her. 

"Hesper,  don't.     I  can't  bear  it,"  he  cried  weakly. 

She  checked  herself  with  an  effort. 

"  Darling,  forgive  me.  I  am  sorry, "  she  said  under 
her  breath.  "I  did  not  mean  to  distress  you.  I 
think  the  khamdsin  has  upset  me." 

The  hot  wind  moaned  round  the  house,  filtering 
fine  sand  upon  the  floor. 

"It  is  doing  me  good,"  he  said.  "I  feel  ever  so 
much  better." 

"That's  right." 

*  This  pillow  is  n't  very  comfortable,  though. " 

"What  can  I  do  to  make  it  easier?" 

"You  can  sit  on  the  bed  next  to  me,  and  put  your 
arms  round  me,  and  let  me  lay  my  head  against  you 
instead." 

In  an  instant  her  arms  were  round  him,  and  he  was 
raised  very  gently,  his  head  sinking  on  the  desired 
resting-place. 

"Ah,  how  soft  and  sweet  you  are,"  he  murmured, 
with  a  weary  sigh.  "After  all,  I  feel  a  little  tired 
now.  I  think  I  could  sleep." 

"Do,  my  dearest." 

Her  arms  held  him  closely,  tenderly.  She  crooned 
inarticulately  as  she  rested  her  cheek  against  his  head. 

The  wind  howled  outside — the  strange  wind  that 
was  hot  instead  of  being  cold.  A  sudden  gust  rattled 
the  sun-shutters. 


424        The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 

"Who  is  that?"  asked  Ivors,  rousing. 

"  Only  the  wind,  beloved. " 

He  looked  up  and  smiled  at  her.  "I  thought  it 
might  be  some  one  coming  to  take  you  from  me. " 

She  held  him  closer. 

"  I  feel  safe  when  your  arms  are  round  me  like  that, " 
he  whispered.  "When  I  am  better  I  will  hold  you 
so  closely  that  no  one  can  take  you  from  me. " 

"You  never  held  me  closer  than  now,  dearest,"  she 
whispered  back.  She  did  not  dare  to  trust  her  voice. 

"Ah,  wait  until  we  go  adventuring  again."  His 
head  slipped  down  a  little,  and  she  pillowed  it  softly 
above  her  beating  heart. 

"Are  you  comfortable?" 

"Very  comfortable.  Stoop  down  and  kiss  me 
before  I  go  to  sleep. " 

"Are  you  tired?" 

"Not  now." 

"Only  sleepy?" 

"  Only  sleepy  and  happy, "  he  murmured.  "  Don't 
let  the  others  in.  We  don't  want  any  one  else — you 
and  I.  Do  we,  Hesper  Belhasard?" 

"No,"  she  answered. 

The  Eastern  night  fell  suddenly  through  the  yellow 
twilight  and  still  Hesper  sat  holding  Ivors  to  her  heart, 
protecting  him  from  intrusion. 

She  did  not  know  the  moment  when  the  Un- 
bidden Guest  entered  and,  summoning  him  from  that 
desired  bourne,  set  out  with  him  upon  the  last  Great 
Adventure. 


THE   END 


Jt  Selection  from  the 
Catalogue  of 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 


Complete  Catalogue  sent 
on  application 


By  the  Author  of"  The  Way  of  an  Eagle 


The 
Knave  of  Diamonds 

By  Ethel  M.  Dell 

With    Frontispiece    in    Color    and    Decorative 
Wrapper.     $1.35  net.     By  mail,  $1.50 

Nap,  the  untamed  character  of  the  story, 
thus  reads  the  heroine's  destiny  in  a  pack  of 
cards,  and  his  prediction  has  some  of  truth  in  it 
and  some  of  knavery  :  "  Ah!  Here  comes  the 
King  of  Diamonds.  He  has  taken  a  decided 
fancy  to  you,  and  if  you  have  any  heart  at  all, 
which  I  can't  discover,  you  ought  to  end  by 
being  the  Queen.  No,  here  comes  the  Knave — 
confound  his  impudence! — and,  by  Jove,  yes, 
followed  by  the  missing  heart.  I  am  glad  you 
have  got  one  anyway,  even  if  the  King  is  not  in 
it.  It  looks  as  if  you  would  have  some  trouble 
with  the  Knave,  so  beware  of  him."  He  glanced 
up  at  her  for  a  moment.  "  Beware  of  him ! " 
he  repeated  deliberately.  "He  is  a  dangerous 
scamp.  The  King  is  the  man  for  you." 

New  York         G.  P.  Putnam' S  Sons         London 


"Every  whit  as  charming  as  'Little  Lord 
Fauntleroy'." 

Little  Thank  You 

By 
Mrs.  F.  P.  O'Connor 

Author  of  "  I  Myself,"  etc. 

With  Frontispiece.    $1.25  net 
By  mail,  $l.4O 

"  No  man  could  have  written  '  Little  Thank 
You*,"  says  an  important  English  Journal  in 
discussing  the  book.  "There  is  that  unmistak- 
able feminine  touch  that  alone  can  reach  chords 
man's  clumsy  fingers  somehow  cannot  touch, 
be  they  ever  so  cunning.  The  story  is  altogether 
delightful.  We  defy  any  ordinary  man  or 
woman  to  resist  being  moved  by  it.** 

"  Mrs.  O'Connor's  story  has  a  simplicity  and 
tenderness  which  are  utterly  refreshing.  Little 
Thank  You  will  remain  in  the  memory  as  one 
of  the  most  human  and  lovable  of  story-book 
characters." — Manchester  Courier. 

"  A  tenderness  and  quaintness  and  simple  pathos 
that  should  carry  this  charming  novel  into  an 
easy  popularity." — Bookman. 

G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  London 


The   Adventures   of   Miss 
Gregory 

By  Perceval  Gibbon 

12s.     With  8  Illustrations.    $1.35  act 
By  mail,  $1.50 

The  rousing  volume  of  dare-devil  enterprise  that 
Perceval  Gibbon  has  written  is  a  book  full  of  freshness 
and  surprise.  Miss  Gregory  knocks  about  the  world, 
and  wherever  she  goes  she  is  in  the  thick  of  things.  At 
one  time  it  is  a  Nihilist  plot  which  fascinates  her ;  at 
another  time,  a  plague-stricken  community  that  calls  her. 
She  is  in  Africa  when  the  slaver  is  secretly  plying  his 
trade,  and  again,  in  wicked  Beira,  at  the  opportune 
moment  she  interposes  her  calm,  forceful  personality 
between  an  aggressive  ruffian  and  his  friendless  victim. 
Wherever  she  goes  she  attracts  adventure  to  her.  The 
book  which  recounts  her  extraordinary  experiences  is 
full  of  graphic  pictures  of  men  and  women  in  widely 
separated  parts  of  the  globe,  and  the  characterization 
of  these  is  as  forceful  and  impressive  as  the  narrative 
in  which  they  play  their  parts  is  swift  in  movement 
and  enthralling  in  theme. 

G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 
New  York  London 


Patchwork     Comedy 

By  Humf rey  Jordan 

Author  of  "  The  Joyous  Wayfarer  " 
72°.    51.30  net.    ByaaOfU45 

A  story  of  enthralling  interest,  in  which  the 
stakes  are  the  winning  of  a  woman's  love  and  the 
safeguarding  of  an  honored  name,  threatened  by 
the  exposure  of  an  unpublished  scandal.  The 
craft  and  resourcefulness  of  the  accomplished 
blackmailer  entail  a  prolonged  period  of  anxiety 
for  the  hero  and  for  those  to  whom  he  is  attached, 
and  the  result  is  a  story  in  which  there  is  con- 
tinued suspense  and  the  exciting  consciousness 
of  alarmed  expectation. 

There  is  plenty  of  swift  action,  sharp  charac- 
ter drawing,  and  life-like  depiction  of  scenes,  and 
the  author  does  not  miss  the  opportunity  of  now 
and  then  injecting  some  very  penetrating  observa- 
tions on  life  and  of  pointing  out  contrasting  features 
in  English  and  French  character. 


G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  London 


..  IIJij  j 


